Diary of a Mountie: LXG 1936
by Camwyn
Summary: A string of ship sinkings off the coast of Scotland points to a danger threatening the entire British Empire. A new League is called into service- genius, detective, Man of Iron, child of magic, vigilante, Mountie, and someone Practically Perfect...
1. Prologue

It was a cold day in Fort Munn, and the pot-bellied stove in Inspector Moore's office did little to dispel that cold. Positively disgusting, he thought, that the manufacturers in Ottawa should charge such tremendous prices for equipment that failed to live up to its purpose. True, it wasn't nearly as bad as the cold outside, but then _nothing_ was that bad. He'd served in the Yukon ten years now, and this was the first September he'd ever seen that put such a chill in his bones. If this was September, he didn't like to think what the winter would surely bring.  
  
There were other, more pressing matters to attend to than the malfunctioning stove. The most pressing of the bunch was the paper before him. It was a simple enough thing, an official request for reinforcements, potentially in the long term. He'd processed plenty such forms before. True, the number of requested reinforcements - thirty-two - was a little high, but nothing extraordinary. In fact, there were only two extraordinary things about the paper: the reason for the request, and the signature at the bottom.   
  
Inspector Moore sighed, not for the first time, and ran his hands through his thinning blonde hair. "Sergeant Preston," he said wearily, "as you can see, I've received your request..."

"Yes, sir." The other Mountie, of an age with Inspector Moore, stood at attention on the opposite side of the desk. To look at him, you'd never know the room was anything less than perfectly comfortable. The stories said Preston looked at an oncoming storm and built igloos Eskimos would envy, that the great grey half-wolf at his feet led him to caves and overhangs any other man would miss. Of course the blue-eyed man looked comfortable. This was positively tropical, by comparison with the trail.   
  
That, however, was not the matter at hand. The Inspector dragged himself back to the everyday. "And I have to say," he resumed, "that I'm... more than a little nonplused. What, exactly, does this part of the paper say?" He tapped the form, hoping against hope that he'd read the thing wrong.   
  
Sergeant Preston leaned over and peered at the words a moment. "Oz, sir," he said.   
  
The Inspector's heart sank. "Oz," he repeated.   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
"As in the children's books."   
  
"Afraid so, Inspector."   
  
"You want me to loan you thirty-two Mounties to assist in the pacification of _Oz," _the Inspector said slowly.  
  
"That's right."   
  
"Sergeant... I don't even know where to begin. By all rights I ought to have you in Doctor Munro's office for even considering making such a request." Doctor Munro was the only physician for a hundred miles who had any skill at all with cases of mental derangement.   
  
"I know that, sir."   
  
_Then why are you standing there looking like you're a hair away from smiling ear to ear?_ thought Inspector Moore sourly. He concealed the confused resentment, and said instead, "I thought you were on extended leave."   
  
"Technically, yes, sir," said the Sergeant. "But only for administrative reasons."   
  
"Administrative reasons," repeated the Inspector. 

"It would foul up the chain of command for me to be reporting to two different authorities at once, sir."

"Two... may I ask what the other one is?"  
  
Sergeant Preston smiled faintly, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing an envelope. "This should explain a few things, sir."   
  
The Inspector accepted the crinkled, cream-coloured envelope, opening it with fumbling fingers. The paper within was of the sort of quality he hadn't seen since - well, ever, really, except for one or two missives of commendation from-   
  
He all but dropped the letter, eyes riveted to the words. "Prime Minister Mackenzie King," he read, mouth unaccountably dry, "hereby orders the release of - wait, what _**is **_this? The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen's a_ myth!"   
_  
"Afraid not, Inspector. Although I felt much the same way, when the letter originally arrived in my hands."   
  
Inspector Moore shook his head. "Oz. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I suppose next you'll be telling me Paul Bunyan chopped down all the trees in Quebec."

"Why, no, sir. Paul Bunyan's a cheap advertising gimmick for the Red River Lumber Company of Minnesota."   
  
Despite himself, Inspector Moore smiled. He bit it back quickly and looked up. The other man didn't seem the slightest bit off his pace. He might just as well have been waiting for news about a new sled dog. It wasn't right, it wasn't natural, for a man to be that calm when he'd just dropped such a bomb. Why, you'd think there was nothing at all unusual going on! Damn it, what was Preston _thinking?_  
  
"Sergeant," said the Inspector slowly, "this is patently ridiculous. There is no such place as Oz. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is the subject of bad pulp writers with no respect for literature." He looked down at the letter in his hand. "And yet, you bring me this, which I cannot deny gives every impression of being real... How is this possible, Sergeant?"   
  
Sergeant Preston shrugged, answering, "The world's a stranger place than any of us give it credit for, sir. Neither you nor I can claim to know everything that goes on."   
  
"I suppose not..." Abruptly, Inspector Moore shook himself. It was too easy to nod, to say _yes, yes._ This wasn't right. These things didn't happen. This couldn't be real, and he _wasn't _going to turn that many constables over to a man who proposed to take them to somewhere out of a fairy story!   
  
Ah, that felt more like his own thinking. Lifting his head to meet the Sergeant's eyes, he said, "What you are asking for is impossible, Sergeant. Quite impossible. I might consider it if the problem had to do with, say, Alaska. It might upset the Americans a bit, but they're usually good about such things. Or if it were an internal Canadian matter. But this-"   
  
"I realize it looks like a problem on the surface, Inspector," said the Sergeant gently. "But once you accept the reality of the League, it's really not as difficult as it looks."   
  
"You're asking an awful lot, Sergeant-"   
  
"No more than the Prime Minister asked of me, sir."   
  
There it was again, that urge to believe, that _feeling... _He couldn't help it. There was something about the man that precluded the possibility of trickery and lies. He knew, rationally, that it was quite impossible- but, damn it, he _wanted_ to believe. Or, at least, to try...   
  
For a while there was no sound in the office save the faint thump-thump-thumping of the Sergeant's dog scratching at an itch, and the softly hissing crackle of the pot-bellied stove. Eventually, Inspector Moore said, "I don't know, Sergeant. I just don't know."   
  
"Sir?"  
  
Moore pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Sergeant, you have to admit, this isn't exactly normal procedure."   
  
"I don't see why not, sir. Aside from Oz being a foreign jurisdiction, that is. The Crown's trying to establish diplomatic relations with the local head of state and assist the natives in repelling invaders. The threat the situation poses is big enough to endanger the entire British Empire. As far as I'm concerned, that calls for extraordinary measures - and the Crown will back me on that, if the question comes up."   
  
Moore closed his eyes.   
  
"All it needs is your authorization, sir," said the Sergeant's deep voice.   
  
Without opening his eyes, Moore said, "Give me one good reason to believe you, Sergeant. Just one. That's all I ask. One good reason."   
  
"Of course, sir." There was another stretch of quiet, this one much shorter. Moore thought he could hear Preston pulling something out from under his scarlet tunic. "But I'd like to ask you a question, first."   
  
Inspector Moore spread his hands. "Ask away."  
  
"Would you say I'm an imaginative man, Inspector?"   
  
"Excuse me?" Moore opened his eyes and peered at Preston. The Sergeant's expression was earnest, curious.   
  
"You know my reputation, Inspector. I've served under a couple of superior officers before, so you've read the reports about me. Am I what you would call an imaginative man?"   
  
Puzzled, Moore shook his head slowly. "I... why, Sergeant, I don't believe I ever thought of that before."   
  
"Think of it now, Inspector. Please." Preston's fingertips were resting on the edge of the Inspector's desk. "My service record's as long as yours. Have I ever given the Mounties a report that was too wild to believe?"  
  
"No..."   
  
"Have I ever been accused of spreading tales, or deceiving a fellow officer?"  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
The Sergeant leaned forward a little further. "Has there ever, in all my years as a Mountie, been a _single incident_ where I failed in any aspect of a case because of insufficient evidence?"   
  
"Sergeant, you've got the closest I've ever seen to an unblemished record."   
  
"Then you'll agree that I'm not the sort to fabricate a record of events?"  
  
"I.. . no, Sergeant, you're right. You're ... you don't make things up."  
  
Preston nodded. "That's what I thought you'd say," he said in a satisfied tone. He held out a brown paper envelope, held shut with a length of twisted red cord.  
  
Moore accepted it hesitantly. "What is this, Sergeant?"  
  
Preston smiled. "My diary for the past eight weeks, Inspector," he said. "Or maybe you'd rather call it your good reason."  
  
Moore thumbed through the dog-eared contents of the envelope. "It's a hundred and fifty pages long, man!"   
  
"Read it," Preston said. "And tell me if you honestly think **I **could make that much up."  
  
The inspector passed one hand over his face. "All right, all _right..._ Dismissed, Sergeant. Go and feed that dog of yours, or something."   
  
Preston saluted smartly and strode out of the office, Prince at his heels.


	2. Sgt Preston, Your Government Needs You

Day One- Saturday, August 8, 1936  
Vancouver, British Columbia  
  
Well,here I am. As I write these words I am in the study of a small house just inside the Vancouver city limits, on the first day of my first real vacation in nearly thirteen years. I don't know if you can really call a day like this part of a vacation, though. I spent most of it on the train. The rest- well, I had to spend that unpacking, and convincing Yukon Prince that the property was safe. It took him several circuits of the yard and two more of the house before he was satisfied that nothing smelled out of the ordinary. I'm not surprised, really. The property owner said the last renter left in a hurry. You hear a lot of stories about big cities like this. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the last person to rent the premises had stashed some ill-gotten gains or other contraband in the walls, intending to return for it after the coast was clear. Gold dust, counterfeit money, or other things of that nature- why, all kinds of things might pass through a place like this!  
  
Mind you, that's not the case here. I searched myself, just in case there was something Prince didn't smell. There's nothing here but the house and the dog run (which Prince shows no interest in- can't blame him- must get some tools and make him a proper kennel as long as we're here). I'll manage, I suppose, but that kind of thinking isn't something you can put on and take off like a hat. Vacation or no.

* * *

Day Two- Sunday, August 9  
Vancouver, British Columbia  
  
Found the Second United Methodist Church today. The pastor preaches a fair sermon, though longer than Reverend Snyder. Their choir is nothing short of astounding. Makes a man wish he were better at singing.   
  
Afterwards, I got out and had a stroll around the city. Prince stayed home and seemed much the better for it. Don't blame him on that either- this is no place for a husky, not at this time of year. Wish I had Regina with me, but there's no stable on the premises and I'm not up to building her one. Bit of a bigger town than I'd imagined, really. I find myself comparing it to Dawson City at every other step. Even Calgary wasn't half so big- nor so cosmopolitan. I don't think I've ever seen this many Chinamen in my life. Some of them came to head north for gold, but the majority of them came to stay. Wonder what it must be like back home for them, to come so far to a place like this. They're worse off than Americans when it comes to being foreign, poor devils.  
  
I should find out if there is any kind of opera house in this city. Louise loved opera. The house had a phonograph, I recall- maybe there's a music seller somewhere nearby.  
  
Oh- I found a lumberyard. Prince will have his kennel by nightfall.

* * *

Day Five- Wednesday, August 12  
Somewhere Over Alberta  
  
Prince wasn't happy this morning, and neither was I. The sun was barely halfway up the sky and already the heat was growing more than a little hard to take. (I'm told it's hardly anything compared with the weather they get south of the border.) Taking him on my constitutional in the nearest city park did no good what-so-ever, as nothing puts a damper on the enthusiasm of the other park-goers like the presence of a seeming wolf. The collar did absolutely nothing to allay their fears. I spent the rest of our time there with leash in hand, giving the park-goers my reassurance on the honor of the Northwest Mounted that he was completely harmless so long as he was at my side. I can't blame them, really. Prince is half wolf by blood, and he looks the part. Apparently wolves almost never show themselves within miles of the city.  
  
But I digress. Prince and I returned to our lodgings. I'd just finished tidying up from lunchl when there was a knock at the door. Since I'd stopped by the provincial police offices to say hello, but given my name to no one else, I assumed it was either the constables or a well-meaning neighbour. I turned out to be wrong. On my step was a young English woman, who very politely asked me if I were Sergeant Preston of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. When I said yes, she informed me that her name was Mary Poppins and that the British Government needed me. Caught me by surprise, I'm afraid. All I could think to do was offer Miss Poppins some tea. By the time I'd finished putting up the kettle, she had produced a file from her carpet bag (practical item, that- I ought to get one at some point) bearing the image of the King. I hardly had time to do more than glance at the contents, as she informed me straightaway that she was speaking for the legendary League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.  
  
Understand that when I say 'legendary', I mean 'fantastical'. Stories get up to the Yukon the same as they do to anywhere else in Canada, but something about the trip distorts even the most plain-spoken account. The things one hears about the League make the cremation of Sam McGee sound factual.  
  
Not that I could say this to her, of course. Telling a lady something like that right to her face would've been rude. I thought I'd buy a little time by looking more closely at her file. Miss Poppins was either an excellent forger of government documents, or extremely well connected. I've seen papers from Canadian, British, and even American government offices before. The scanty information she offered on shipping troubles in Glasgow looked genuine. It occurred to me that western Canada was a terribly long way to travel if she were nothing but a forger. Miss Poppins' accent was definitely British, sounding much too natural to be an actor's put-on, so it seemed likely that she'd come from England. At least, at some point in her history. On the other hand Britain does have a native police force; why on Earth would the Crown need to call me across the ocean? Why, they turned me away when I volunteered to join the Great War- said the RCMP was a vital service and I couldn't be spared! Were there no detectives left in Scotland, no officers of the law?  
  
I had been about to ask Miss Poppins that very question when I turned the page. There, last of all documents in her folder, lay a Letter of Release to International Service- from the RCMP to the direct service of the Crown, signed by the Prime Minister of Canada and the Commissioner of the Northwest Mounted alike.   
  
I don't think I could have been more thunderstruck if Prince had started reciting Shakespeare. Thank Heaven for whistling kettles; I got up and poured the young lady her tea, but to be frank I felt as if the steam ought to be coming out of my own ears. I KNEW that document. There was no way, simply no way, that Letter of Release could have been a forgery. The League might be fantastical, some kind of cover or code name for a more comprehensible organization- but the Letter was real. I didn't have a choice; I had to accept.  
  
Once I'd packed, tidied up, and convinced Prince to abandon his new kennel, we followed Miss Poppins out into the shadowed street. Miss Poppins had apparently arrived in a dirigible, if you can imagine such a thing. And what a dirigible, at that! The thing was larger than most of the ships I'd seen at dock in Vancouver. Last time I'd seen anything that size it was a feature of the landscape and buried under twenty-two inches of snow. I must have looked a fool or worse, but Miss Poppins was polite enough to look the other way until I finished gaping. Prince didn't like it one bit, but as neither he nor I had any choice, we rigged a sling for him and hoisted him into the craft ahead of my luggage. He promptly ran for the nearest piece of furniture and hid under it, refusing to come out.  
  
I am writing this in the dirigible's sitting-room- the thing has a sitting room!- somewhere over the province of Alberta. I don't think I'll be returning to the Yukon any time soon. 


	3. Enter the Shadow

Day Six - Thursday, August 13  
New York City   
  
We have reached New York City, a place I never thought I'd see. I'm afraid I'm not impressed. When Miss Poppins informed me that we were heading to New York to pick up the next League member- a fact that's sinking in- I made sure to settle myself near one of the dirigible's windows. I'd heard stories of the place, mostly from people fighting their way up to the Yukon in the hopes that gold could get them out from under the thumb of the Depression. I'd never given them much thought one way or the other, but I had no reason to disbelieve their tales. They spoke of a city strung across three huge islands and the seacoast, full of the tallest buildings, the brightest lights, the millions of people. Despite myself I was really looking forward to my first glimpse of the place. It would seem that not all fantastical stories are the truth. The city sprawls. Its buildings are taller than any I've ever seen- but the place looks like an open-pit mine, crawling with God alone knows what. You might just as well kick over an anthill and expect order inside as expect any kind of grace or dignity from New York City.   
  
It was a relief to hear that Miss Poppins knew exactly where to find our next companion, a Mr. Lamont Cranston. When she saw I'd never heard the name, she mentioned that he sometimes used an alias- not a good sign, I think. Unfortunately I had never heard 'The Shadow' used as a name either. Might just as well have asked her if she'd ever heard of Sam Steele, I suppose... This Shadow fellow was to be found at a gentleman's club in the city. She asked me to stay behind, as it would likely take her less than half an hour to retrieve him. Given the look of the city I would rather have come along for her own good, but she made it quite plain that my assistance wouldn't be needed. That kind of statement worries me, but what could I do? I stayed with the dirigible and spent a good ten minutes trying to coax Prince out from under the Chesterfield before giving up.   
  
I'll say it right now: I don't like flying. I know there's more to it than dirigibles but frankly, if the alternatives are anything like this, you can keep 'em. I'd sooner ride a raft down the Mackenzie in full flood than spend any more time than I've absolutely got to in the air. God knows I'd be a happy man if the trip to England was to be made by boat, but you can't just hire one of these blimp things and fly it across the continent, can you? I expect I'm going to be stuck in this thing for a while.   
  
At least there will be company. I'd just about given up on finding a decent book on recent events in Scotland when Miss Poppins returned, Mr. Cranston in tow. He was still wearing a formal dinner jacket. Hadn't had time to change, I suppose. Prince showed him no particular dislike. He had a certain arrogance about his walk, like a man who assumes he's the biggest game in town and expects others to know it. With an alias like 'The Shadow'... well. I decided then and there that I'd trust him only as far as I absolutely had to. There was something about him that didn't sit right with me.   
  
He did have the sense to inquire about Prince. People tend to assume a great deal about that dog- that he's either a man-eating wolf ready to lunge at them in the blink of an eye, or as tame and friendly as a collie pup. Prince knows when people are talking about him, of course. When the dog turned to look at Cranston again I watched his face. I wouldn't be the least surprised if he turns out to be a master poker player. There was something to his expression that wasn't fear, but I couldn't tell you what it actually was. I told him not to worry, that Yukon Prince was trained and obedient, and expected to sit back and spend the rest of the ride over New York City in uncomfortable silence. Cranston, after all, had his portfolio from Miss Poppins to read through, and it was coming close to supper time.   
  
Mr. Cranston, though, surprised me. As I was getting up from my chair to go and search for some coffee, he spoke- a quiet, low voice, more refined than the gold-hunters from the western United States. "Sergeant Preston... I've heard of you and your exploits."   
  
That caught my attention, sure enough. I sat back down at once. "Then you have me at a disadvantage, sir. I'm afraid I've never heard of you."   
  
He waved one hand at that, dismissing the problem with a sniff and a peculiar hint of a smile. "That's all right. I wouldn't have expected you to, up in... where is it, Whitehorse? Yellowknife?"   
  
"Dawson City, actually. At least, before I took my current leave."   
  
"Ah yes." He nodded sagely, hands in his lap as he watched my reaction. I knew that look, of course. I've used it myself. Can't help but wonder if it raises suspects' hackles the way it raised mine. "One wonders exactly how many of the stories are true. They do seem a bit- how shall I say this? Fantastic, perhaps."   
  
It took me a moment to realize that the stream of stories flows both ways. There are always people who can't handle the frontier life, but I can't say I ever really stopped to think about what kind of tales they must have been spreading when they got back home. Oh, I'd been interviewed a few times by local reporters and the occasional enthusiast out of the provinces, but so what? All I ever told them was exactly what happened.   
  
Then again, I was talking to Cranston with my hand on the head of a half-wolf who probably weighed more than I had when I joined the Northwest Mounted. People tend to take that kind of thing and blow it all out of proportion.   
  
"Well," I said, scratching Prince lightly behind the ears, "if you'll tell me the ones that have you wondering, I can tell you how much of them is truth."  
  
Cranston nodded again. "They say you always get your man," he began, leaning on the 'always' as if he expected some dispute.  
  
"That's true. I do." I never brag. What Cranston said is true. I have never given up with a case still active, and for as long as I draw breath I never will. I've run every last thief, fraud, outlaw, and murderer who crossed my path to ground and brought them to justice, like a Mountie should. It's part of the job.   
  
"And that you seem... ah... not very inclined to use- final methods." I thought I saw his grey eyes narrow a little bit at that. I know when I'm being sounded out, thank you.   
  
"That, also, is true," I told him. "That's what judges and juries are for."   
  
"You've never found a need to do more than arrest them? I'd think there would be circumstances..." He trailed off.   
  
"Mr. Cranston." I sat back in the chair and rested my hands on my knees. Prince lay down with a quiet sigh. "I'm a man of the law, a police officer. That kind of decision isn't mine to make. I answer to the law."   
  
"I see." He looked as if he might have wanted to ask some more, but held off, and that was the end of the conversation.   
  
I don't like him. 


	4. Anthills and Americans

Day Seven - Friday, August 14   
Atlantic Ocean  
  
Great Scott, the Atlantic's one big body of water.  
  
I wonder if this thing can ride out storms. Hope we won't have to find out.  
  
NB: the Lysol is kept in the galley's stores, behind the tea equipment. Vitally important fact, as Prince won't use the toilet.

* * *

Day Eight - Saturday, August 15   
London, England  
  
I take it back. New York looks nothing like an anthill. A nest of denning chipmunks, perhaps- smaller, simpler, more open. London, on the other hand, would put the termite colonies of Africa to shame. It stands to reason, as the city's older by an order of magnitude. Good heavens, what a mess. I wonder if the cities of Canada will ever look like that.  
  
We haven't landed the dirigible yet. Miss Poppins has had the task of acquiring three of the four remaining League members today; she says the fourth is waiting for us, so that's one less task for her to handle. The first is a monocled gent by the name of Lord Peter Wimsey. I know I ought to recognize the name, but I'll be hanged if I can think of where I heard it. Lord Wimsey gives every impression of being an ornamental gentleman and a waste of time, but there's more to him than that. As Cranston was busy making noises about finding a telephone or telegraph office once we landed, Lord Wimsey was left with me. The man knows his horses- no surprise, as he's one of the gentry. We talked about them for the better part of an hour. Most of it sounded like casual banter, but no one speaks as carelessly as he does only to hit the mark so often by accident. There's a perceptive eye behind that monocle of his, and I think it's for a good deal more than livestock. I'll bet my hat he's twice as much as meets the eye. Wonder if he's the League's money man? It's not the kind of thing that you can put on the national budget, after all.  
  
As for the other two, they're both Americans. One's a big strapping fellow called Hugo Danner. It took me a while to remember where I'd heard of him; he fought in the Great War, as part of the French Foreign Legion. They called him the Man of Iron, the Lion of the Trenches. The other American... well. I'd heard of him, too, but frankly I thought he was nothing more than a children's story. The stories of Tom Swift and his amazing inventions read like something out of Verne. It was all I could do to greet him properly, as my instinct was to ask if he, like Cranston, was using an alias. I imagine it might have come up in conversation later if he hadn't taken to showing 'round his plans for an electric rifle. Yes, an electric rifle- the thing fires lightning as easily as my service revolver's bullets, and he says it can be tuned to stun instead of kill! Not to mention that it works just as well as a flare as it does a weapon. I'm no engineer, so I couldn't say whether the plans were for real or a bit of American fakery, but if this Swift can build the electric rifle... well. That's a weapon the Mounties could use, all right.  
  
One thing strikes me as odd, though. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is a British organization. According to Miss Poppins, it reports to people beholden only to the Crown. The question occurred to me when we picked up Cranston, and it's only grown stronger now... why on Earth is the British Empire calling on so many Americans? Things must be pretty bad, if there are so few extraordinary gentlemen under the Union Jack. 


	5. The World Turned Upside Down

Day Eight- Evening   
London, England   
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Headquarters  
  
I'm having some trouble putting my thoughts just now into words, as I'm finding them drawn back to a fact I learned as a schoolboy. When Lord Cornwallis surrendered to the American armies and their French allies at Yorktown, it's said his men marched out of Yorktown to the tune "The World Turned Upside Down".  
  
Right now I could use a tune like that.  
  
Today started normally enough, and it went on normally enough. The dirigible had to be moored halfway across London from our destination- the Parliament buildings. Can't say I blame them; I wouldn't want a monster like that tied to the roof of anything important in Dawson, let alone the houses of Parliament! They had carriages waiting for us. I suspect they'll send motorcars next time. The horses didn't take well to Prince at all. He wasn't happy with the carriage ride himself, but that's only because he'd rather have been at the head of a team doing the pulling. Behaved himself admirably, though. It was an uneventful ride for the most part, so I took the opportunity to snatch a bit of a nap. I woke up to find that we weren't stopping outside Parliament, but in what I assumed was one of the Lords' carriage-houses. Before I could ask exactly where we were, the drivers had opened a door and Miss Poppins was leading us down a corridor more reminiscent of a mine than a Government institution.  
  
That should have been my first warning.  
  
To be honest, I was a little suspicious at this point. Still, it was England, and the Government buildings have been around longer than anything in North America. I reckoned it was some kind of access tunnel dating back to the medieval kings, so Prince and I followed her without a fuss. Cranston looked altogether too much at home for my liking, and as for the others- well, I could hear Swift speculating on how they'd cut the tunnel and run the lighting into it, Danner didn't speak up much, and Lord Wimsey seemed to have worn out his supply of questions before he got off the dirigible. Even Swift was quiet by the time we reached the modern part of the corridor. I'm not much good at navigating underground, but we had to have been somewhere near the heart of the Houses of Parliament by then.  
  
The room at the end of the corridor was nothing I've ever seen in a textbook; instead it was some kind of meeting room, long, narrow, low- ceilinged, and fitted out with a table long enough to seat twenty men around. There were group paintings on the walls, a little grubby from years of gaslight smoke- no windows anywhere in sight. One of the chairs was already occupied by a small blonde girl who couldn't have been more than twelve. I couldn't imagine what she was doing there, but I didn't ask to get the question. We'd barely got farther than names (hers being Dorothy Gale) when a door at the other end of the room opened, admitting a severely dressed man of middle years. He informed us that we were to address him as J.  
  
Prince settled himself next to my chair as the man began handing around folders, which looked as if they came from the same store as the one Miss Poppins had originally given me. "These folders," J. said, "contain all the information available on your fellow League members, as well as such information as we feel is appropriate before the beginning of your mission."  
  
"Yes, about that..." It was Lord Wimsey, whose monocle seemed to be giving him trouble. Cranston snorted.  
  
"What about it?" The man arched an eyebrow, which fazed Lord Wimsey not one bit.  
  
I missed exactly what he asked, as Prince had come to his feet and padded over to Miss Gale's chair. She had a Cairn terrier in her lap, an elderly one if I'm any judge, and was wearing a belt over her dress that looked like something a prizefighter might win. Didn't seem afraid of Prince, though. All she did was set her dog down on the floor and tell him to be a good boy. Then she waved at me with a bit of a smile. It took me a moment to realize she'd been given a folder, too.  
  
Lord Wimsey's question might have gotten away from me, but J.'s answer grabbed my attention like a gunshot. "Glasgow, Lord Wimsey," said the man crisply. "The lot of you will be going to Glasgow, to work out an answer to a recent string of ship sinkings." I saw Swift lean forward out of the corner of my eye. "You have each been selected for the League for different reasons. Your detective prowess-"  
  
Lord Wimsey nodded.  
  
"Your inventive genius-"  
  
Swift smiled.  
  
"Your sheer, blind, bloody-minded persistence and stubbornness-"  
  
He looked directly at me as he said that. I started to salute.  
  
"Your experience with fairy realms-"  
  
"WHAT?" That was Cranston, Swift, and Danner all at once. The cry of "Oh, I say, excuse me?" went up from Wimsey. I don't think I did more than choke on my tongue, myself.  
  
"Fairy realms, Mister Cranston." J. nodded to the girl next to me. "Miss Gale is well acquainted with such things. The matter for which you have been summoned is no ordinary case. The city's harbor is apparently under assault by sirens, of the classical sort. I trust you're familiar with your Greek mythology?"  
  
"You must be joking," said Cranston, looking up from his folder. There was a picture of a dubious-looking Danner visible on one page; Cranston looked even more skeptical than the American's photograph. "Sirens? As in lovely young fish-women singing sailors to their doom?"  
  
"As in razor-toothed, spike-finned piranha creatures capable of chewing through the belly of the pride of the ports of Europe, Mr. Cranston." J. indicated the folders. "You'll find what information we currently have on the matter in your dossiers. The short version of it is that for some weeks now, ships arriving in Glasgow have run afoul of these creatures. They let loose with their song; the men on the ships go over the edge or fall down in trances; they chew through the ships and devour the sailors inside."  
  
Cranston's look was ... well, I didn't know whether to laugh at his expression or admit I felt the same way. Surely this fellow had to be joking- didn't he? Fairy realms? Sirens? Good God, this was 1936! Who believed in such things any more?  
  
"Your dossiers contain full information on what we got back of the victims," continued J. "Miss Gale, your file's photographs have been expurgated-"  
  
The girl looked up at me then and whispered, "What's 'ex-pur-gated'?"  
  
"They took out the pictures," I told her as quietly as I could. She frowned a little bit, but nodded and started turning her pages.  
  
"The Sirens don't appear to discriminate. They sing to boats full of men, chew through the boats, and devour everyone inside. When the boats are full of women they scream at the tops of their lungs to no effect, then chew through the boats and devour everyone inside..."  
  
I confess I stopped listening then. Not for lack of belief, I assure you. No, I was too busy reading the pages which had been expurgated from Miss Gale's file. I'd seen sights like that before. Wolves interrupted in the act of devouring a caribou carcass left a mess like that.  
  
"What's 'e-viss-er-ated'?" whispered Miss Gale, as J. continued her description.  
  
I looked at Miss Gale. She really couldn't have been more than twelve years old at the very most. She was probably the most calm, collected child I've ever met. Aside from the massive golden belt she wore, she had the look of- well, any frontier child, really. Nothing fancy to her clothes, just simple practicality. If her parents had released her to the League for some reason... no. No, no sane parent would put their child in the care of someone talking about fairy realms as if they were real, would they? Of course not. She deserved a straight answer, even if we weren't getting them ourselves.  
  
"Have you ever been on a farm?" I asked.  
  
She nodded happily. "I grew up on one."  
  
Yes, that seemed right. She didn't feel like a city child. "Good. Have you ever seen them turn pigs into pork?"  
  
"Oh, yes! Uncle Henry used to do that all the time."  
  
"All right, then. When they cut the pig open and everything falls out-"  
  
"So it's guttin'?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay. I've seen guttin' lots of times." She went back to reading her file. "What's 'gelded'?"  
  
I'm sure I must have matched my uniform at that. She was twelve! I mumbled something, I don't remember what.  
  
"So it's what they do to turn a bull calf into a steer?"  
  
"That's right," I said. "But we should listen to the man now."  
  
She nodded. Thank God. I did my best to bury my nose in my papers.  
  
"... yes, Mister Swift, we have tried that. We've shot at them; it doesn't do any visible good. We've stabbed them with swords; they scream, then rip off the swordsmen's arms." No survivors, said the report.  
  
"Have you tried artillery? Or explosives?" The blonde American leaned forward, looking far too interested in the prospect to mean anything good for anyone. The next line of my report said estimates placed the Sirens' numbers somewhere in the vicinity of twenty.  
  
"In the middle of Glasgow Harbour with ships passing in and out at all hours of the day and night? I think not." Eyewitness reports apparently ranged up as high as one hundred fifty of the creatures.  
  
"What about fire?" volunteered Danner. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. The file said no Siren had yet been captured alive.  
  
"Again, Mr. Danner, we are talking about a harbour. If you have figured out how to make water ignite, share the method with us, by all means." The big fellow just grinned and sat back.  
  
"Electricity?" Swift again.  
  
"We would have to get a generator out to where they were, first."  
  
"Nets?" suggested Miss Poppins.  
  
J. shook his head. "That would require getting close enough to them to drop the net properly."  
  
"Magic?" asked Miss Gale suddenly. I think all of us turned and looked at her then.  
  
"No," said J., "not that. This is precisely why we have called the lot of you together. You have twelve hours in which to come up with a preliminary plan-"  
  
"Excuse me." Lord Wimsey again. "I can't help but wonder if there's any information beyond this- it's a bit on the thin side, I'm afraid-" He riffled his dossier's pages with an apologetic look.  
  
J. nodded. "You'll have access to all the information on Sirens in our library. And twelve hours in which to find it, so I suggest you begin as soon as you can."  
  
I would have said something then, as it was getting into the realm of the purely ridiculous, when my eyes fell on one word: Autopsy. Not of the poor devils who'd been ripped to death- but of one of the creatures that had done the ripping, found floating dead at sea. Sirens, said the report, were possessed of a fishlike skeletal structure, enormously spiny fins reminiscent of some of the 'trash fish' of the Grand Banks, mammalian four- chambered hearts, oddly structured lungs but no gills, webbed fingers, fishlike tails, and more teeth than God granted any other creature save the shark.  
  
They had an autopsy. A real, live, factual autopsy. Either I was the victim of one of the biggest hoaxes any prankster ever organized... or Sherlock Holmes was right. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains- however improbable- must be the truth. It wasn't entirely impossible for something to be faked on this scale, but it was so close to it as to make no difference. And that meant these creatures, these Sirens, were real.  
  
Cranston was asking about finding a telephone. I didn't listen. I closed up my folder and put up a hand. Must've looked like some kind of schoolboy, but I wasn't thinking of that.  
  
"There's a telephone in the back, which you may use... yes, Sergeant?"  
  
"Water closet?" I asked. J. rolled his eyes.  
  
"The bathroom is behind the door on your left. Anything else?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
We had twelve hours in which to research how to stop an invasion of mythical fish-women who just happened to be real. I didn't think a few minutes to splash cold water on my face and neck in the hopes of waking up from a very bad dream was too much to ask. As I did not wake up, and am still both awake and thumbing through very smelly old books in what I assume is the League library...  
  
Lord Cornwallis, General Washington- whichever one of you chose the tune, I'd like to congratulate you on your taste. And ask, please, that you send your musicians along. I could use them right now. 


	6. Stories

Day Eight- Near Midnight  
London, England  
League Lodgings

The others are still doing their research on the Sirens. It's not a field I can contribute to much, any more than if it were a plague or pestilence breaking out instead. I did my best to find what information I could, but it seems as if everything I want is either in Glasgow or not considered material that we need by our superiors. Maybe I'm wrong, but I had the impression that we needed all the information we could get if we were to come up with a plan to stop these creatures. I wanted a list of ships attacked, their cargoes, their ports of origin, their crew manifests, their registries and their shipping lines. I don't think that's too much to ask. You never know where a pattern might emerge; there was a case back in Dawson where a ferry-boat operator tried targeting his competitors' ships with dynamite... Like I said, they don't appear to have that information here. It's just going to have to wait until we get to Glasgow. Unless I miss my guess that means more dirigible travel, so I'm going to see if I can't get some sleep now and do any reading that I can on board the blimp.

I couldn't help but notice I wasn't the only one frustrated by the library. Cranston stepped out almost as soon as J. sent us off, muttering about reaching his people. He was scowling like a thundercloud when he came back. I'm going to assume that means that either he couldn't reach his people, or that they had even less knowledge of what was going on than we did. I'll ask him tomorrow. Swift spent most of the time taking notes and sketching in the margins, occasionally speculating out loud about the supplies he'll need to make a metal net. Danner and Miss Poppins wound up at the same table. I believe they were planning on finding out more about our adversaries once we reached Glasgow. What I could hear of their conversation seemed more about legends and phenomena than physiology. Wouldn't be surprised at all if the two of them tried to negotiate with the creatures when we got there, or at least communicate–

Speaking of communication, it seems Miss Poppins can talk to dogs. More importantly, she appears to understand them when they talk back. If I hadn't just been reading an extremely complicated Government report on the inner workings of the bodies of mermaids, I would've written this off as a joke, but right now it's just one more log on the fire. Miss Gale's terrier, Toto, didn't seem very happy with the idea of staying with Prince outside the library. I don't blame the little fellow- Prince is a good ten times Toto's weight, and smells like a wolf. Just as I was going to tell Prince to lie down and leave Toto alone, Miss Poppins stepped in. She crouched right down and looked Prince square in the eye. "You're a fine fellow, Yukon Prince," she said, "so I trust you to behave yourself."

I could swear I saw Prince nod when she said that.

"Good boy. Toto's not very fond of other dogs, and he's never met a dog like you; do you think you can be polite in spite of that?" She watched his face for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Very good. I'll have your paw on that, if you don't mind." She held out her hand, and Prince put his paw squarely into hers and let her shake it- which he never, ever does unless I've given him permission. She turned away and started talking to Toto about Prince after that. I wasn't listening. Prince was looking up at me, and for the first time since he was a tiny pup, he looked- well, embarrassed. As if he didn't mean to make himself understood to someone who wasn't me.

I overheard Cranston making some kind of comment about 'talking to animals now, are we', but he hid it well. Besides, Toto had just shuffled over to Prince and bumped him with his nose. I watched them for a few minutes and they seemed to be getting along, so I patted Prince on the head and followed the others into the library.

As I said, the research wasn't really helpful for me. I expect Miss Poppins and Mr. Danner will give us a distillation of their ideas in the morning, before we leave for Scotland. Swift, obviously, was designing something, God alone knows what. We'll see that in the morning, too. Cranston vanished into the library long before I ran out of documents I wasn't allowed to see, so in the end I found myself left with only Miss Gale for company. She had crept up behind me and was looking over my shoulder at the dossier information on mermaids-

No. Not the information, the pictures.

"Miss Gale," I said, trying to turn the folder away a little, "you probably shouldn't be looking at this. It's dreadful stuff."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Preston," she said. "I only wanted to see what the fish ladies did to those poor men. I might as well see what we're supposed to be fighting, after all."

It occurred to me then that any child with a good imagination would be able to come up with a mental picture after what they said in our reports. Better to head that off by giving her the truth. It'd just run around loose in her head otherwise.

I opened the folder and laid it out in front of her. Got to give her credit; she turned a little pale, but all she did was frown, shake her head, and say, "These fish ladies have got to be stopped, and that's flat."

I smiled then. "You're right, Miss Gale. That's what we're here to do, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes indeed," she said. "It's a pity Ozma isn't here."

"Ozma?"

Miss Gale nodded. "If Ozma were here, she could tell them to stop it and they'd have to listen. On account of she rules over all the fairies." I believe I opened my mouth then, but nothing came out. Miss Gale kept right on talking. "See, she was one of the fairies that first turned Oz into a fairyland, and Queen Lurline made her the ruler over it..."

"Fairyland, Miss Gale?" I asked. "I ...never learned about any fairy lands in school."

"Oh, you wouldn't have. Most people don't know about 'em. But there's Oz, and there's Ev, which is separated from Oz by the Deadly Desert, and..."

She kept on talking, but I only had half an ear open. J. had said Miss Gale had experience with fairy realms- had he been serious? There wasn't anything in the folder-

No, wait. GALE, DOROTHY- there, I'd missed her pages-

"... and Billina, the yellow hen. Only Dr. White didn't like me talking about that."

"Doctor White?" I asked, putting the folder down.

She nodded. "At the asylum," she said very soberly. "See, Glinda figured out that the magic things like the Silver Slippers and the Nome King's belt worked even after you took them out of the fairy lands, so the Wizard and I tried to cross the Deadly Desert to find the Slippers again. Only the balloon crashed and we got lost, and when I finally found people again I started asking them about the Wizard and Oz, and they thought I was crazy. So they put me in an asylum, and Toto had to stay in a kennel."

My hands suddenly felt like ice. It's not polite to stare, but I couldn't help it. An asylum? For a child? If she weren't mad when she went in, she'd be completely insane by the time she got out! "Miss Gale," I asked very slowly, "how long ago was this?"

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Four years ago," she said.

"Four-!" I pushed the folder away from me. "But you're- so this happened when you were eight? That's horrible!"

She nodded. "Well– sort of– I'm around twelve, but I was born a lot longer than twelve years ago. Only nobody gets older in Oz, or any of the fairy lands."

What I wouldn't have given for a cup of good strong tea just then. "You know, Miss Gale," I said very slowly, "up until this morning, I would have sworn there weren't any such thing as fairy lands."

That was the wrong thing to say. Miss Gale's expression crumpled, and she all but folded up like a pillbug. "Dr. White used to tell me all the time that there were no such things as fairies," she said very quietly. She wasn't meeting my eyes, the poor girl. "Or Oz, or my friends, or any of those things. He got very angry when I told him it was true."

I had to think fast. "But that was this morning," I said, "and, you know- before this morning, I didn't know about any fish women, either."

Miss Gale looked up then, blinking. "It's all right," I told her. "Just because I didn't know, doesn't mean it's not true. It just means I never heard of it before."

Understand, please- I've never once seen anything in the North Country that couldn't be explained, in the end. The shamaness who could kill with her shadow turned out to have a husband with access to arsenic powder. The voice of Yokko, God of the Mountain turned out to be wind over a cave mouth after a poorly handled bit of dynamite. Every time I've seen someone make a supernatural claim, it's turned out to be nothing but fancy and superstition.

But this- well-

The Crown seemed to think it was real. If they believed her story enough to include her in the League, then I could believe her too. At least, until I got the chance to see the Sirens with my own eyes and decide the truth for myself.

"So it's all right," I said. "I don't think you're crazy."

She smiled.


	7. Welcome to Glasgow

Day Nine- Sunday, August 16  
Glasgow, Scotland  
Three Fishes Inn

The dirigible arrived in Scotland sometime this morning and landed just outside town. Lord Wimsey had the pilot in a frothing state before his feet even hit the ground. Seems he's been asking the poor fellow all kinds of questions about the thing, most of which the pilot simply didn't know how to answer. I think Swift's going to take Lord Wimsey aside later and have a few words with him about that. Those two seem to get along fairly well, although Swift's got a touch of American nationalism that I'm not sure Lord Wimsey will appreciate. The dirigible's been tied down, covered with an absolutely enormous piece of canvas, and labeled a revival tent. Miss Poppins assures me that no sane Scotsman would be caught within a hundred yards of such a thing, so that should avoid too many awkward questions.

The Three Fishes Inn turned out to be a small place within walking distance of the harbour. It wasn't the cleanest building I've ever seen, nor in the best of repair, but they did seem to have put some effort into keeping the place up recently. The shutters on the side that faced the ocean all looked new- I assume they're making repairs as they go. It was no worse than some of the places I've stayed in back in the Yukon, anyway. Given that we had our recommendation straight from J., I assumed the government had made some arrangements beforehand, so I saw no reason to object.

Cranston- of course- felt differently. "You must be joking," he said as he spotted the sign. "This place?" The man had, after all, been wearing a tuxedo when we picked him up from the club in New York. Naturally someone like that was going to have a problem with an inn like this.

Swift was wrinkling his nose, but didn't say anything. Miss Gale seemed to be more interested in looking around the street. Danner gave Cranston a schoolmarm's skeptical look. "I don't see what's wrong with it," he murmured.

"Look at the place," said Cranston, gesturing to the yard. It wasn't much more than a three-storey house with a sign out front. There had been bigger hotels in Whitehorse. "It's probably going to fall down around our ears while we sleep. There's plenty of other inns around here."

"Aye, there are," came a Scotsman's burr, "but none of 'em have as good a record of guests getting' out alive of a mornin'. My name's Albert, and I'll thank ye not to go insultin' my inn, sir. Now, who might you be?"

The problem with standing on the steps of a place of lodging while you argue is that sometimes the people inside open the door. Albert, a salt-and-pepper haired Scot of middle years, had caught all of us flat-footed. Well, except for Miss Poppins, who looked as if she had fully expected this. "We're deciding whether to stay at your establishment, sir," she said crisply. "Might we have a look inside?"

"Suit yourselves." Albert propped the door open with a half-brick and stepped out of the way.

I let the others go first, taking the opportunity to pick up what little luggage Miss Gale had. "Excuse me," I started to say to the man as I crossed the threshold, "but I have a dog-"

He was looking past my shoulder already. "I should say you've got a bloody wolf, mister! Is it trained?"

"Well- yes, he's-"

"As long as he doesn't eat the other guests in their beds, nor use the carpet for a toilet, I don't care what you do with him. Keep him in your room and out of my sight." Then he was off, trailing behind my companions.

Prince looked up at me expectantly. I just shrugged; what could I say? Being the swiftest and smartest of lead dogs in the North country wasn't going to mean anything to a man like this... bah. "Come along, Prince," I told him, and he got to his feet and followed me in.

The first few rooms we saw looked like they hadn't been cleaned in some time, a fact which had Miss Poppins inspecting with a look of some disdain and Cranston looking fit to burst. Frankly, Swift didn't look all that happy either. Danner- well- he looked just as he had before. I had the sudden feeling that he'd be equally at home sleeping in a heap of blankets in the back of a railroad car as in the Palace Hotel, and that he might have done either in his travels. As for myself, it was a roof and four walls and it came with a recommendation. Besides, I had things I needed to see to in the city.

"Miss Poppins," I said, setting Miss Gale's things down, "I've stayed in places a lot less well built than this back home." Someone snorted. I didn't bother to see who. "As long as I can fit in the bed and not get bitten, I don't really care what my lodgings are like. This place might be a bit messy, but it looks fine otherwise."

She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes flickering over the room and the innkeeper alike as Cranston raised his voice. "Just because it was recommended doesn't mean we have to stay here," he pointed out. "We weren't given orders. Just a recommendation."

"But when someone offers you lodging, it's awf'ly rude to turn them down," piped up Miss Gale. "It wouldn't be very nice at all just to refuse this place, now, would it?"

I feel fairly sure that Swift would have burst out laughing then if Miss Poppins hadn't thumped the tip of her umbrella against the floor. "Well," she said to Albert, "as long as you've rooms-"

"I do."

"Proper rooms-"

"We do clean up between guests, if that's what yer askin'."

"And a space for meals-"

"We've a full kitchen an' dining room, aye."

"And don't think I won't be inspecting the facilities, sir... all right. Very well, we shall be staying here."

Albert grunted and led us up the stairs to the third floor. "One for each of you," he said, passing out the keys. "Except you, missy, you're stayin' with- what did you say your name was again?"

"Poppins, sir, Mary Poppins. I'm the nanny."

"I don't care if you're the fairy godmother. She's too young to rent a room to, so you two'll be sharin' quarters. Lunch is at one." And with that he stumped off.

I'll give the man credit- the actual rooms were in better shape than the public area of his inn. The rooms were small, no surprise there, but you could feel safe sleeping in them. Mine is on a side of the building that faced the harbor, although obviously the water's quite a ways off. The dirigible's tent is within range, too; I have to admit, that makes me feel better. I know it's ridiculous to even consider, but that monstrosity is our only means of transportation. All that's keeping it here is a couple of big ropes. I'd rather not be stranded in Scotland, thanks. I've unpacked the few things I brought and changed into my civilian clothes. As far as anyone knows, I'm heading out to walk Prince and get the lay of the land.


	8. Stranger In A Strange Land

Day Nine- Afternoon  
Glasgow, Scotland

It's not as if I have anything to hide; the fact of the matter is that I did want a look around the city. You can't properly accomplish anything in a city this size until you have at least some memory of it in the soles of your boots, so I wanted to be sure and get a look at the harbour before the case picked up any kind of speed. That port is the busiest place I've ever seen! Why, if we hadn't been lodged in London just the day before I'd swear it was the sole point for food and supplies to get into and out of Great Britain. There were more ships passing through there than- well, than there were men in Fort Munn, and that's a fact. In the ten minutes Prince and I observed the harbor, we saw the stevedores unloading sardines, herring, copra, tropical fruits, bolts of cloth, coal- why, you name it and it was passing through the port of Glasgow. If this is what the harbor looks like when it's under assault- well. No wonder the Crown is worried.

I must admit, it's hard to look at a sight like that and think of something as impossible as Sirens. That's a modern harbour, to be sure. If there were ever any such thing, how could they ever hope to intrude on a place like this? It was just impossible... but no, I had my papers and my orders, and they all said it was real. Either I was being lied to- which I didn't think I was- or the world had gone mad, or I had. And there's really only one place a man can go when he finds himself in a spot like that.

Shettleston Methodist Church is about halfway across the city from the Three Fishes Inn. It's a solid, broad building made out of grey stone, with a wrought-iron fence and a travel agents' next door. The sign out front said I'd missed the end of Sunday services by about half an hour, but the doors were open and really, that's all I needed. Where I come from, the churches are few and far between. I've never really been what you'd call a churchgoing man, but I like to stop in now and again. Can't hurt, after all. And frankly, with all this nonsense going on I need all the help I can get. I went on in and settled myself in the back, where I wouldn't get in anyone's way.

Actually, there really wasn't anyone to intrude upon. The church had emptied pretty thoroughly after the close of worship. If anyone was hanging about, they were doing it in the church's basement. The sanctuary itself was quiet. In fact, as I was sitting there I realized that I was surrounded by quiet for the first time since I had left the Yukon. Oh, there was still some noise from the street outside, but the doors were thick enough that it hardly made any difference. No rumbling trains, no growling motorcars, no humming dirigible engines... nothing at all but peace and quiet. I must confess, I sat there a good five or ten minutes before I even thought to pick up one of the prayer books.

It's a hard thing, isn't it- for a man to go from a life that he's known forever and a world that makes perfect sense to a country where he's never been and a life he's only seen in secondhand accounts. Even when everything else is completely normal, you might just as well rip a sapling out by its roots and try to replant it somewhere else. It might make it, or it might not. It all depends on how much care gets taken in the process, doesn't it? The Israelites would never have survived their wanderings in the desert without divine help, and the good Lord's own parents had to flee their own country and move to another without any warning at all. I'm hardly in a situation that dire- or that important- but at least there's an example to turn to. I'm not alone. I can do this. I've survived nearly three decades of life in the Northwest Mounted Police without getting worse than a couple of scars. A little strangeness on the docks of Glasgow won't hurt me.

Well, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. That autopsy mentioned an awful lot of teeth. Then again...

"When thou passest through the waters, I [will be] with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee."

Isaiah didn't say anything about spiky mermaids with unholy numbers of teeth, but I expect we'll be passing through water and fire enough by the time all of this is done. The world might have turned upside down, but it's only the world, after all. Some things endure.

I think I'll be all right.

No one has asked me where I've been. I'm not sure they even noticed I was gone. Miss Poppins, maybe, but she seems the sort to notice everything.


	9. Room at the Inn

Day Nine- Evening  
Glasgow, Scotland 

Lord Wimsey spent some time today talking to the harbor-master while the rest of us were going about our other business. Thanks to him, more than anything provided by London, I have the information I wanted. Unfortunately, it's no good. There's no pattern I can make out in the attacks- none at all. The Sirens seem to discriminate between their targets about as much as a pack of wolves. Whatever they can catch, they sink. And whoever is on it, male or female, winds up looking like those poor devils in our files. They attack at night- that's the only constant. Given what I've seen of predators in the Yukon I'd be willing to bet that they have trouble with bright lights, or that they're out-and-out nocturnal. I mentioned this to Swift, who said he'd come to the same conclusion. He's busy modifying his electric rifles to include a 'flash' discharge in addition to the 'stun' and 'kill' settings. When I find the local telegraph office I'm going to put in a word with RCMP headquarters back in Ottawa. Swift says these electric rifles are too expensive to put into mass production, but it's not as if there are that many Mounties. I have a feeling that there's more than a little bankrolled Yukon gold we'd be able to put towards his efforts. Cranston has enough money as a private individual to make a similar offer- I see no reason why Ottawa shouldn't have the chance.

But back to the matter at hand. Just in case someone was trying to conceal a gory history I asked around about naval disasters in prior years. For the past five years there's been absolutely no record of ships being sunk, destroyed, or otherwise damaged on their way into or out of the harbor. Before that there was some trouble, but it was purely mechanical and confined to a single ship. This is a recent aberration, not- so far as I can tell- part of any kind of cycle or recurrent series. That'd explain why the harbour defenses are useless against the creatures. They really haven't reared their heads before. The British Navy can't be spared to patrol the seas of Scotland looking for mermaids- sorry, Sirens- and anyway the reports emphasize the creatures' immunity to bullets. It looks like we were told the truth- it's up to us.

Not exactly your usual civilized dinner conversation, is it? Ah, well. Albert's got a decent cook on his hands, assuming it wasn't he himself that prepared our dinners. Some kind of fish stew I didn't recognize, nor did I ask about it. I've heard too many stories about what the Scots consider acceptable as food. Didn't seem to bother Prince one whit when I put a bowl down for him, though, and since he won't eat anything fouled even if I'm the one who gives it to him, that was all the reassurance I needed. We spent most of the meal discussing our current information. Lord Wimsey seems to have achieved the most investigation of anyone so far, although Danner is making headway with the local stevedores' union. Cranston's getting hot under the collar. Says his agents aren't able to tell him more than 'if it's a watery grave you're after, then by all means take a swim in the harbor'. We're going down to the docks just before dark. With any luck Swift will have finished his modifications by then. If these creatures can sing, there's a good chance they can talk; if they can talk, they may be able to speak English. Better to question the living than try to deduce answers from the dead.

Albert overheard our planning, informed us that we were idiots, said he'd ring the local churches for funerary rites if we weren't back by midnight, and stormed off. Not the most communicative man I've ever known, but not the least, either. He's got something he's not saying, or I'm no policeman. Didn't stick around long enough for me to ask much, though. I'll try again in the morning.


	10. Or Goblin Damned

Day Nine- Late Night

Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!

The Sirens are real. I've seen them with my own eyes. They're every bit as dangerous as we were told, and then some- and there are **well** more than twenty, though I'd be lying if I said I knew how many more. The reports didn't know the half of it...

We went down to the harbor as it started to get dark. Swift had finished his work; each man had his own modified electric rifle. Lord Wimsey agreed to stay behind at the Inn and watch over Miss Gale, which was a relief, since neither Miss Poppins nor Prince could be spared. Business had dropped off considerably since I'd last seen the place- although that wasn't at the harbor itself so much as among the warehouses on the way. We had only gotten partway down the streets when Miss Poppins called a halt.

"Gentlemen," she said, "it's just occurred to me. These Sirens are supposed to lure men to their unfortunate ends by their singing." We looked at each other, not quite sure what she was getting at. She gave a faint little sigh and reached into her carpet bag. "Oh, come now, gentlemen- surely you've read your Homer? J. did ask if we remembered our mythology, after all."

As I haven't touched Homer since my schoolboy days, and don't remember much more than being disappointed to find the Trojan Horse wasn't even mentioned in the Iliad, I didn't say anything. Danner, on the other hand, was smiling. "I've got my own, ma'am," he said as he held up a tin the size of a pack of cards.

"Own what?" asked Swift.

Danner opened his tin and held up a blob of whitish stuff. "Wax," he said, returning the tin to his pocket and starting to roll the stuff between his hands. "I read the Odyssey in college. Ulysses wanted to hear the Sirens' song, but without crashing his ship- so he had his men stuff their ears with wax and tie him to the mast. They'd know they were past the Sirens when he stopped trying to break free of the ropes."

Miss Poppins had already started passing around tins of the stuff herself. "Sergeant," she said as she handed me my tin, "you'll find some extra for Yukon Prince in here."

Now, Prince understands a good deal of what I say. I've had him since he was a pup. In the seven years we've known each other I have never once had to put anything into his ears, except to remove ticks and other biting insects. I think he knew how ill at ease I was with what I had to do; he whined a little and thumped his tail against the pavement as I crouched down next to him. "Prince, old boy," I started, "I'm going to need to..."

That was where I stopped. Couldn't for the life of me figure out how to explain that I had to stop him from hearing me. "It's not going to be safe for you to hear, boy-"

"Having a little trouble, Sergeant?" It was Miss Poppins. She smiled as I turned Prince to face her, and within minutes of talking to him had his ears stoppered as neatly as you please. Didn't even paw at his head when she was done. One day I am going to have to have her teach me to do that.

Turns out we didn't plug our ears a moment too soon. We'd hardly gotten started towards the harbor again before the running began. Screaming too, I assume; the people who started streaming out of the harbor area shot past us like they were trying to outrun an avalanche, and no one alive can pull off a run like that in silence. Couldn't hear a thing myself. Didn't have to. Every late-working businessman, dock worker, deck hand, stevedore, and traveler in the city of Glasgow wanted to put as much space as they could between themselves and the harbor.

Since we had to get past them, you can imagine the time we had of it. Good thing Danner's a one-man battering ram- people cleared out of his path without even thinking about it. The ones he couldn't turn aside bolted at the sight of Prince. We made it through the streets and down to the docks without being trampled.

There was no sign of anything visible in the water, but then again darkness had already begun to fall and Glasgow Harbor had been murky during the day. We stood in the street, looking up and down the rows of ships; I'd been just about to step forward when I felt a tap on my arm. It was Cranston, pointing at a vessel too far down the quay to make out the name. Big ship- some kind of freighter- and starting to list heavily towards the open water. I nodded to the American as the other men got their rifles out. We had enough understanding of hand signals between us to pass around a basic plan: fan out along the quays. Move in the direction of the listing ship only after we'd formed a long enough line to cover the spaces between and keep Miss Poppins safe. I powered up my rifle, but I had one modification to the plan. I crossed my fingers, crouched down, and pulled the wax out of Prince's ear. He didn't bolt. That was good enough for me.

"All right, boy," I told him, "here's your chance. I'm going down there, and I need you to go ahead of me." He- well, I assume he barked at that. Couldn't tell, since I still had my own wax in. "Go down the dock ahead of me. Stop if it's dangerous. Sit down if you smell anything strange. All right?" He cocked his head then, the way he's done since he was a pup, and made a silent whuf. I smiled. "Good boy, Prince," I murmured. "Now hold still while I put this wax back. You need this as much as I do."

Like I said, Prince and I have worked together for his entire life. He's as good as any man, like his grandfather, and has more sense than most human beings I've met. He trotted down the quay ahead of me, nose low, tail high as always. I had my eyes on the ship. Cranston, Swift, and the others moved along just as we'd planned, sweeping their rifles in covering arcs. It looked as if we'd be all right.

Lucky thing Prince is more silver than grey, or I wouldn't have spotted his motion in the shadows. He stopped halfway down the dock, pawing the wood; his tail drooped suddenly, all but clamped between his legs. He ducked his head, shivering at something. Then, as carefully as the wet wood would allow, he slunk off the dock like a frightened puppy and hid behind my legs. Let me repeat that: Yukon Prince, the best lead dog it's ever been my privilege to know, hid. He once fought a half-grown black bear to save my life. And he hid from what was in the water.

We men exchanged glances. Miss Poppins looked to me as I crouched down to scratch poor Prince behind the ears; he whined and licked my hand. With what looked like a sigh, Miss Poppins pulled the wax from one of her ears, gesturing to me to do the same. "That's not good, is it," she asked.

"No, ma'am, it's not. This dog is braver than any man in the Yukon."

She nodded. "Well, gentlemen," she said as she reached for her umbrella, "it seems we need a bit of aerial surveillance." With the faintest of smiles she tucked the wax back in her ear, lifted her umbrella over her head, and took off.

No, I am not joking. I wish I were. She lifted into the air as easily as the dirigible, even though there wasn't the slightest bit of wind to be felt. I imagine we must all have looked like fish, pop-eyed and gaping- at least for a moment, anyway, since I looked away as soon as I got my good sense back. Wouldn't do to stare at a lady in a compromising position, even if that position was twenty feet overhead. I had just started to roll my wax earplug back into shape when she landed, looking grim. "Yukon Prince is right," she said, looking to the other men. "They're coming."

I jammed the plug in. Danner, who was nearest, fell back to Miss Poppins' side. As one, we readied our rifles.

And the Sirens came.

My first glimpse was of a hand- a gnarled, clawed, webbed thing I hardly recognized at first. It lunged over the edge of the dock, digging into the wood, and my blood ran cold as I realized the creatures were climbing out of the water. My rifle's electric discharge would have set dry wood on fire, and this wood was covered in salt water. We'd have been dead in seconds if anyone had fired. I fumbled for the switch that moved the rifle from 'stun' to 'flash' as I backed up. One of the creatures heaved itself out of the water and into the light.

The Siren before me bore as much resemblance to Cranston's 'lovely young fish-women' as I do to a Hottentot witch doctor. It had the head and torso of a human woman, but its skin was a vile gray-green colour. Spikes protruded from its shoulders and back, fanning out like some kind of sick imitation porcupine on either side of its rippled dorsal fin. Its lower half was covered in silvery scales, down to the thick, heavy join between flesh and tail fin. Even at that distance its teeth were visible, gleaming needle-sharp in what was left of the evening light. It looked like something out of a Newfoundland fisherman's nightmare- and it wasn't alone. There were more of them crawling out of the water behind the creature every moment.

"Get back!" I shouted, momentarily forgetting that no one could hear me. "Get away from the water! Prince, look after Miss Poppins!" The thing turned towards me, black eyes glittering like cut glass, and bared its teeth. I had no doubt whatsoever that others of its kind were chewing through the collapsing ship at that very moment. Or that this one had heard me... "All right, you," I growled. Swift had said the triggers were a little sensitive; I took another step backwards. The creature planted its arms on the wood and heaved itself forward, wriggling like a seal. "Back off, or we'll blow you all to kingdom come!"

It planted its hands again and heaved forward. I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

That flare was so bright, it seared purple spots into my eyes through closed lids. I can't have been the only one to fire. I stumbled over a paving-stone, throwing up a hand out of reflex; when my vision cleared I could see several of the Sirens lined up at the very edge of the join between wood and stone. Their companions rolled behind them in pain, pawing at their eyes before falling into the water. I only saw that for a moment, though, because the ones who could still see suddenly- well, they flared. Every fin, every spine, every last bit of unnatural defenses they had suddenly stood on end. They lifted their heads as one, drew back their lips, and screamed-

I couldn't hear it, but I could feel it in my bones. The great soprano Madame Cavalieri had visited Dawson City years ago and sung for the miners there, hitting notes that would have shattered glass. Her voice had nothing, nothing on these creatures, and I silently thanked God for the good sense of Mary Poppins. If they did have the power to call men to them with that hideous song, we'd have been doomed for sure- and even if they didn't I expect we would have been collapsed on the ground, our eardrums broken and bleeding. I flipped the switch from 'flash' back to 'stun', but before I could fire on the things Danner picked up a rock and flung it at the nearest Siren. She didn't even pause in her screaming, only caught the rock out of midair and flung it back. It bounced off him and hit a lamp-post, where it left a vicious dent.

We opened fire then, which interrupted the screaming, but it didn't do us much good. Firstly, the Sirens were being joined by more of their hellish sisters, who were clambering up past the screamers to swarm for us. (Whoever said there had been only twenty must have been blind drunk at the time.) And, second, the ship chose that particular moment to give up the ghost. Timbers started cracking, flying into the air as the vessel heaved over. The spray of water it threw up was enormous. I would have kept firing, but Swift's muzzle suddenly went dark- he remembered what I hadn't, the salt water's danger. If the rifles' inventor wasn't willing to use them, I certainly wasn't going to, but aside from my service revolver I doubted we had any weapons on hand.

I was wrong- Cranston started emptying a pair of .45s at the Sirens as we retreated. He had excellent aim, even two-handed, not that it did him any good. J. hadn't been exaggerating when he described the uselessness of bullets against the things. I looked to Danner, who had already put up his rifle, and to Swift, who was earnestly gesturing to Miss Poppins in a manner that clearly meant 'run'. He saw me looking, pointed to me then, and made the same gesture. Miss Poppins nodded. I raised my free hand, signaling the other men.

The rifles went out and the Sirens paused in their course. It was all the time we needed. Somewhere between that moment and reaching the steps of the Inn we lost our pursuers, which was a relief until we discovered Miss Gale and Lord Wimsey had decided to leave. Where they went, I don't know. I asked Albert about that. Said the girl had wanted to follow us, so she and Wimsey left. As he hadn't been outside since we left he had no idea where they'd gone; the only help he could offer was dessert, in the form of a fresh peach. Before I could ask him anything else he stormed off, muttering under his breath.

Miss Poppins is fetching Dorothy's pillow at the moment so Yukon Prince can get her scent. Lord Wimsey seemed sensible enough that I expect they're holed up in a building somewhere, but I'm taking the electric rifle and Danner with me just in case.


	11. The Water Baby

Day Ten - Monday, August 17  
Glasgow, Scotland  
Three Fishes Inn

I suppose I could have written this last night, but if there's one thing you learn on the trail in the Yukon, it's that a man can only go so long without sleep and expect to do his best the next day. I expect most of us probably wanted nothing more than for the night to end. Not that today's likely to be any easier.

Prince and I didn't have to search for Miss Gale after all. Miss Poppins brought the pillow down all right, and Prince got the scent right away. Funny thing, though. When Danner went to open the door, there they were- Dorothy and Lord Wimsey, side by side. Lord Wimsey had his hand up to knock, but his attention wasn't in front of him. No, he was focused on Dorothy and I don't blame him one bit. That little girl had a pearl in her arms, a pearl as big as a man's head! Plastered with kelp, too, and smelling of salt and sea.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry that?" asked Lord Wimsey. The girl shook her head.

"That's all right, Mister Wimsey," she said. "I can carry it the rest of the way. But you should get a nice soft blanket for it- oh, Miss Poppins, Mister Danner, everyone, look what we found! Mister Wimsey thinks it's an egg!"

An egg? That was enough of a surprise to take the words right out of my mouth. Out of everyone's, I think. Even Cranston looked too stunned to speak. Of course, the silence only lasted a moment or two. Then the questions started to fly. They didn't get answered, though, because Lord Wimsey had found that blanket and was disappearing into the dining room. Dorothy went after him, and the rest of us followed.

"We found this down by the docks," said Dorothy. Lord Wimsey set the blanket down a little distance from the fire, and Dorothy nestled the egg into it. "There, that looks nice and warm. Aunt Em used to do that with eggs on the farm, sometimes, when the hens wouldn't sit right."

"Dorothy," I asked very quietly as the others started crowding around the egg, "what were you doing down by the docks? You were supposed to stay here with Lord Wimsey."

She looked up at me. "Oh, I know, Mister Preston, but you see I couldn't just sit around when everyone was doing something, could I? And anyway, Mister Wimsey asked what I wanted to do, so I told him I wanted to follow you."

Cranston and Swift had crouched down on opposite sides of the egg. Cranston looked like he expected it to leap up and bite him at any moment. Swift murmured something, tapping gingerly at the egg and looking to the others expectantly. "You could've been hurt, you know," I murmured.

Dorothy shook her head. "No I couldn't," she said earnestly. "I've got the Nome King's belt, you see. I can't be hurt as long as I'm wearing it." Sure enough, she still had on the huge prizefighter-style jeweled belt.

"We tested that," volunteered Lord Wimsey. "When Miss Gale here told me about the belt, I thought we had better make sure it worked the way she said it did. So I tried to hit her- with her full permission, I assure you," he added hastily, looking at me.

"Go on," I told him.

"Ah- yes. Damnedest thing, really- I couldn't do it. Couldn't even come close. My hand just bounced right off some invisible shield an inch from her head."

"Anyone got a stethoscope?" It was Swift. Miss Poppins began rummaging through her bag.

"So that was how Mister Wimsey knew I couldn't get hurt," said Dorothy. "After that, why, he said he couldn't think of a single reason why we ought to stay cooped up here, so we went out to look for you. Only he-"

"Gentlemen," said Miss Poppins firmly, "there's something in there, all right. I can hear it."

All of us turned to the egg. Dorothy had to edge between Danner and Cranston to get a proper look. It might've been my imagination, but it seemed to me that by the firelight I could almost make out a mass of some kind inside. It wasn't properly pearlescent any more, or at least it didn't seem that way. I suddenly felt sure that if I were to put my hand on it, it'd be leathery to the touch.

"I think it's moving," said Swift in a hushed voice. Sure enough, the thing gave a quiver.

"I think it's hatching," said Dorothy.

The thing inside gave an enormous kick, and my hand went straight to my revolver.

"What is it going to do when it hatches?" asked Cranston, his eyes fixed on the thing. His fingers were flexing as if they itched to reach for something. "It could attack us."

"Well," said Dorothy, "if it's anything like a chicken egg, it'll think whatever it first sees is its mother."

"Do we want it to hatch?" That was Danner.

"I'm not sure we have a choice. It's right next to the fire."

"Maybe we'd better move it?"

"A wise idea," said Miss Poppins, and she reached for the egg. It spasmed again; her hand stopped. The thing inside gave one more mighty kick, and a piece of shell popped away.

I think we all held our breaths then. Now, I've seen birds hatch- geese mostly- but I've never seen anything like this. The shell didn't fracture so much as tear, coming apart in slow motion and peeling away like the skin of an orange. I could just make out what looked like tiny fingers grasping at the edge of the shell for a moment before they vanished and the thing started kicking once more. A few more huge pieces fell-

"Oh, my!" gasped Dorothy. "It's a water baby!"

She was right, I think. I don't know what else you could really call a nearly human infant that had just hatched from an egg. I say nearly because no human child I know of has webbed, clawed fingers at birth, or glittering black eyes, either. It was a little girl, just the size of any normal newborn ("why, it looks like my nephew!" was Lord Wimsey's comment), and almost as soon as the eggshell fell away it took a huge breath and started screaming. We clapped our hands over our ears, but Miss Poppins dropped hers almost immediately. "It's all right, gentlemen," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the cries. "She's just crying. It's not like the harbour."

I lowered my hands, as did Dorothy. The others were a bit slower to do the same. Miss Poppins bent over to pick the child up, cradling it just as if it were a human baby. "There, now, little one," she crooned to it quietly, "hush, hush, all will be well..."

There was a knock at the door. Swift got up and opened it; it was Albert. "Here," he said roughly, thrusting a baby bottle full of milk at him.

"How did you-"

"I've got ears, haven't I? If you're goin' to be fool enough to hatch out mermaid eggs in my inn, someone's got to feed 'em, eh?"

"How did you know it was a mermaid egg?" asked Cranston suspiciously, rising to face the man.

Albert snorted, a sound of deep disgust. "Idiot. I'm not blind. Where else are y'goin' t'be gettin' a wee babe like that at this hour of the night? You got yerselves a mermaid egg an' hatched it warm, so you got one that looks like a human."

"What difference does that make?"

"Well, if you'd kept it cold you'd've hatched out the kind that wants t'kill you for bein' such fools as t'hatch out a mermaid egg on land! What d'you think-"

"And what if we'd left it in the box?" interrupted Lord Wimsey. "We found it in a wooden box, all surrounded by wet seaweed."

"Of course you did! That keeps 'em in stasis."

"There were an awful lot of those boxes," continued Lord Wimsey slowly, watching the man. Albert shrugged.

"That's no business of mine, is it? My business is this Inn, and not havin' it torn apart by angry mermaids lookin' for the idiots that stole their children. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got other things t'see to." He slammed the door before Lord Wimsey could say another word.

The only sound then was the popping and hissing of the logs on the fire. Miss Poppins was too busy feeding the infant to say anything, and the rest of us were thinking our own thoughts about what'd just happened. Eventually, Lord Wimsey cleared his throat. "You know, there really were an awful lot of boxes."

"How many is an awful lot?" asked Cranston warily.

"Oh, several hundred, I should think."

Cranston glanced down at the shards of eggshell that remained, and then over at the baby. "That could be a problem," he murmured.

"That it could, old man, that it could."

"We ought to check it out." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Think you can show me back there? I'd like a look at this myself."

"I'm coming too," volunteered Danner. "If anything happens-"

Swift started to say something, but just then Miss Poppins looked up. "That's quite enough for now," she said. "Mister Swift, Sergeant Preston, I'm going to have to ask that you remain here in case anything else turns up on our doorstep. Mister Cranston and Mister Danner will accompany Lord Wimsey. I trust the three of you will report back as soon as you have something to report on?"

They chorused their assents; she nodded. "Very well. Good luck, gentlemen."

When they were gone, Miss Poppins sat back with a sigh. Swift had gathered up the fragments of eggshell, I assume to analyze them. Prince sniffed at the blanket that had held the egg, but mostly just seemed interested in stretching out in front of the fire. As he did so, Dorothy- who had been very quiet the entire time- looked up at me. "What's stasis?" she asked softly.

"Hmmm..." I tried to think of how to explain it so a girl her age would understand. "It gets pretty cold in the winter in Kansas, doesn't it?" She nodded. "Have you ever found a frog frozen in ice?"

She frowned then, an earnest, puzzled expression. "No," she said at last, "I can't say I have."

"I see. Well, up in the Yukon, where I come from, it gets incredibly cold in the winters. Sometimes it gets so cold that the frogs freeze solid in the ice before they can get back to their holes in the riverbanks."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." I smiled. "I found a few of them myself when I was a boy. They're frozen in the ice just like that, perfect as glass. When the ice melts in the spring, though, some of them get out and hop away. They spend the whole winter frozen, but they come right back to themselves. That's stasis."

Dorothy nodded slowly then, but didn't ask any more questions. Just sat back and stared into the fire. After a while, she said, "It sounds like being an ornament."

"Excuse me?"

She looked back up at me. "Oh, when the Nome King enslaved the royal family of Ev, he turned them all into ornaments for his underground palace. An' then when we rescued them, well ... I rescued Prince Evring first, and he said he didn't remember anything about being an ornament; just being sold to the Nome King and then nothing. Is that what stasis is like?"

"I- why, I don't know, Dorothy. You'd have to ask one of the frogs, I imagine."

She nodded and went back to watching Prince and the fire. I got up to stretch my legs, heading over to the windows. It's funny, but her question didn't seem to want to leave me. The Yukon's a huge, exciting place, full of all kinds of people with all kinds of dreams. Next to a city like London, though, or even just a city like this, I imagine it must seem pretty dull by comparison. Frozen and still, just like one of those frogs. I've seen enough to know better, of course, but... well. There are times when even a policeman's life seems like one long stretch of the same. Funny thing, that.

Of course, given that I was standing in a room with a man who'd invented an electric rifle, a woman who was feeding a baby mermaid with feet, and a girl who'd been to some kind of fairy land, there wasn't going to be much more of that feeling any time soon.

I came back around the table and sat down next to Dorothy. She yawned a little- it was, after all, pretty late for a girl her age. There came a knock at the door, and Albert poked his head in. "Where'd the rest of 'em go?" he demanded.

Miss Poppins looked up, setting aside the empty baby bottle. "Why, down to the docks," she said. "Is that a problem?"

Albert shook his head in utter disgust. "You're lookin' to get killed, the lot of ye," he muttered. "It's not safe to be on the streets tonight. I've got to lock this place down if you don't want to be fish food."

"Excuse me?" Miss Poppins' eyebrows rose at that. Even Prince looked up from his nap.

"D'you mean t' tell me you didna see the shutters? What did you think they were for, decoration? They're t'keep the unwanted guests out. Now, if your friends aren't back from this trip of theirs before I get all of the windows shuttered, they're just goin' to have to fend for themselves. I'm not openin' the front door once I get it locked."

Swift whistled, a long, falling note. "Sounds like we might have visitors," he observed as Albert left again. Miss Poppins' lips thinned, her only sign of visible emotion.

"We can't abandon them," I said. "We ought to go out and bring them back here ourselves. At least we'd have the rifles with us."

"That's true," said Miss Poppins, "but I don't think leaving is a very wise idea. If this place is about to be assaulted, then the last thing we need is for all of us to be outside when the danger strikes."

"But-"

"No buts, Sergeant. I'm terribly sorry, but we're going to stay here, at least for now." There was iron in her tone; I clenched my jaw a moment, then nodded. "Very good, Sergeant."

Dorothy patted my knee encouragingly. "It'll be all right," she said. "You'll see."

Couldn't help but glance down at her then. "I must say, you're taking this awfully well." I couldn't really think of anything else to say, and it was true anyway.

"What do you mean, Mister Preston?"

"Well- you don't seem frightened. Most girls your age would be pretty scared- and a lot of boys, too."

"Why, I suppose that's so," she said, "but it only makes sense. I've had lots of adventures and I've never gotten hurt at all. So there's not really much point in being scared, is there?"

"No, I suppose there isn't." She really did seem to mean it, but something else occurred to me. "Dorothy- you say you've never been hurt. But what about the people around you?"

She drew breath to speak, then stopped. "I- I don't believe they got hurt either," she said slowly, "but then again most of them can't get hurt. There's the Scarecrow, he's made of straw; the only thing he's afraid of is a lighted match. And there's the Tin Woodsman, who can't be hurt either since he's made of tin. He might rust a little, but as long as he gets his joints oiled he's just fine. The Cowardly Lion's so big and strong that nobody's ever really managed to hurt him. So's the Hungry Tiger. Tik-Tok... He's a mechanical man, not really alive exactly, but he can move and talk and think if he's wound up to; he's made of copper. And of course there's Ozma, but she's much too powerful a fairy for anybody to hurt." She sighed; it sounded much too sad for any child her age. "I miss them."

"Well," I asked carefully, "do they know where you are?"

She pressed her lips together for a moment- not like Miss Poppins, but more as if she was trying to hold words back and knew she was about to fail. "I don't KNOW!" she suddenly wailed, loudly enough to set the baby in Miss Poppins' arms to fussing again. That made her drop her voice. "Ozma said she was going to keep watch for me every day. She said she'd look in on me with the Magic Picture at four o'clock, reg'lar." The words were costing her a lot to say, I could tell. "She said she'd bring me home if I made the signal then. Only- well. I did it every single day at four o'clock when they took me to the asylum. I did it for four whole months. And nothing ever happened."

By now she was curled up into a ball, even tighter than when I'd made that first mistake of telling her I'd never heard of fairy countries. She really looked like she was fit to collapse into a puddle of tears, and that just wasn't right. All I could do was ask, gently, "Four o'clock where?"

She sniffled, but blinked up at me, surprise coming into her saddened face. "Why- what do you mean, Mister Preston?"

Well, that seemed like a start- might as well see how much good talking did. "The world's a very big place, Dorothy. It's not the same time here as it is back in the Yukon, or Kansas, either. When it's ten o'clock at night here, it's two in the afternoon back in the Yukon, and four P. M. in Kansas."

That put a little bit of a frown on her face. At least it was a puzzled one. "But it only stands to reason it's the same time everywhere," she said slowly. "All the world's one piece, isn't it?"

I never got to explain the rest, because just then Albert came back. "That's it, we're locked," he said. "I'd get back to your rooms if I were you. And keep those shutters closed!"

Swift gathered up the bits of shell, and we headed up to the second floor. By common consensus we all ended up in my room- if need be, we could always open the shutters for a moment or two and have a look outside. It was on the second floor, after all. What kind of danger could reach us there, unless the Sirens carried spears? I mentioned this to Miss Poppins, who seemed to think it was a sensible idea. The shutters stayed closed for the moment anyway, since there was no real reason to open them. Dorothy settled herself on the floor, Indian-style, and Prince curled up next to her. He's a good dog, Prince. Didn't even mind it when Toto clambered up and fell asleep on his back.

Swift tossed me one of the rifles and picked up one for himself. "Did yours give you any trouble at the docks?" he asked me. He had a look I'd seen before. A miner who's been in town too long wants to get back to his gold, so I suppose an inventor who's gone a full day without inventing something wants to get back to his ideas.

"Seemed a little bright, if you ask me. Was it supposed to backfire on us that way?"

He shook his head, producing a screwdriver from somewhere. "Not really, but then again I'm not sure how much I can do about it. It's light, after all, and that radiates in all directions unless it's blocked. Maybe we should wear smoked glasses next time."

"At night, though?"

"Mmm, you're right, could be trouble..."

He'd already started mucking with the stock of the thing, and a thought occurred to me. "Swift?"

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering something. We had a little trouble communicating down at the docks."

"Yes, the wax."

"Right. I don't suppose you could invent something that'd block out the sounds of the Sirens' screaming, but let ordinary speech come through?"

A thoughtful, faraway look came into his eyes, the rifle forgotten. Ultimately, he shook his head. "Maybe," he said regretfully, "but not right now. I have some notes back at my lab on a metal that seems to have vibrational properties, really unusual ones. I'm pretty sure I can do something with it to make it absorb sounds, but that's years of testing and research away. Sorry, Sergeant."

"That's all right. Just thought I'd ask."

"What was that sound?" asked Miss Poppins suddenly. All of us- the half-asleep Dorothy included- looked up at that.

"I didn't hear anything-"

"There it is again," she said, turning towards the window. "From outside, I think."

"Albert said to keep the shutters closed," noted Swift.

Miss Poppins shook her head. "That's as may be, but we do have three compatriots outside. If they're trying to reach us-"

"I'll have a look," I said, getting up. Halfway to the window I remembered Albert's comment about fish food and jammed the wax plugs back into my ears. Then I shouldered my electric rifle and carefully poked the shutters open.

Nothing- at least not on the first pass. No sign of Cranston or the others anywhere. It all looked as normal as-

"Wait a minute." I pulled back from the window, looking over my shoulder as I cleared my ears. "Miss Poppins, is the dirigible supposed to be taking off?"

"Excuse me?" She came forward, baby in her arms, and had a look of her own. "Oh my. Well, I suppose if they couldn't get into the Inn..."

I wasn't really listening, though. Something looked wrong about the distant harbour. The water was frothing like the port of Skagway during a storm, but there wasn't a single tree or mast moving. If there was any storm at all, it was coming from under the waves. That, or something else was churning the water.

No. Not the water. The land. Down in the darkness there were shapes humping their way across the ground, wriggling forward one heave at a time like woollybear caterpillars.

"Miss Poppins," I said, "we have company. I don't like to say it, but I'm afraid our companions might have it, too."

She peered downward, then looked at me. "You're thinking they reached the dirigible," she said quietly. I nodded. "Well, it can't do any harm to check. Sergeant, how are you with children?"

"Er- well, Louise and I never had any children of our own, but- I've been told I'm good with other people's-"

"Very good." She handed me the water baby.

I wasn't prepared for that.

She couldn't have weighed more than a good-sized hare- six pounds or so- but I had the terrible feeling I might drop her anyway. I sat down on the foot of the bed immediately. Miss Poppins was saying something about keeping our wax ready and not opening the shutters again without some kind of signal, but I wasn't paying attention. I'd just enough of my wits about me to get one hand under the baby's head. She yawned as I did that, stretching one tiny webbed hand in the air. If it weren't for that delicate stretch of skin between the fingers, and the puppy-claw fingernails, it would have been very easy indeed to mistake that hand for a human child's.

"All right then, gentlemen," came Miss Poppins' voice, "I am leaving by the upstairs window and shall return shortly." She stepped out into the hallway, and Swift closed the shutters as she left.

I didn't need to look up to see the smile on Swift's face. I could feel it. I don't know how much of it was him trying not to laugh at my predicament and how much was relief that he hadn't been stuck with the infant instead, but then again I didn't care to find out. I've never really had to handle babies before. Puppies, yes, but the last time I held anyone's baby was during a diphtheria epidemic in a Yukon Indian village. That was years ago.

She wriggled in my arms a little. I started to put her down, but she stopped squirming- just wanted her arm free to try and grab at my nose. She missed, of course. I wasn't about to let those claws get that close to my face. They might've been tiny, but so are the claws on lynx kittens, and those are sharp as needles. Besides, she'd just torn her way out of an egg. She had to be strong to do that.

She. Not it, she. It was awfully hard to think of this child as related to the things that had tried to kill us down at the docks. True, she had a scowling sort of look, but so did the Indian babies at the village. I think most babies look like that, at least at first. She might have had webbing between her fingers, but- well, at that size it hardly looked like more than the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, or any man's. Her toes looked just as normal and natural as any child's, without the slightest hint of tail to 'em. Why, as I was counting them over, she wriggled her toes and kicked out- just a little bit of a kick. Nothing that suggested she could punch through a thick, leathery eggshell. I patted her foot then and apologized for the intrusion, but she didn't seem to understand. She just stared at me with those black eyes of hers and waved that pudgy little hand.

It occurred to me then that you couldn't properly call a baby like this human. She had no mother- at least, not the way most people would count it. She was hatched, not born. The laws of the British Empire don't exactly cover people hatched from eggs. If I were to bring her before a court and ask them to decide what she was, why, they'd probably argue about it for months on end. I expect they'd call her an animal, when everything was said and done. I could understand that being the case with the ones at the docks, but this one... well, she had fingers and toes, feet and hands. Everything about her, except the webbing and the claws, was exactly what you'd find on a human baby. But she'd hatched from an egg, and if that egg had been kept cold she'd have hatched out with spines and fangs and a tail, and if I knew my law at all that would be enough to call her an animal. Somehow, that didn't sit right with me.

Dorothy was watching me when I looked up. "She's pretty," she said softly.

I nodded. "Are there many water babies in Oz?" I asked.

"Well, no, not really," she said thoughtfully. "Oz is a beautiful country and all, but it's got the Deadly Desert on all four sides. There's Sea Fairies in the ocean, but that's miles and miles and miles off, clear on the other side of Ev. But I've heard stories about 'em, and Trot- she's from California, she got to Oz in a giant whirlpool- she had a magic ring from the Mermaids, so that if she ever got in trouble on the water, they'd help her."

I had enough sense not to ask further. Not because of the subject matter- it's hard to be a skeptic when you've got a fresh-hatched mermaid's baby in your arms- but because I suspected any more questions would reduce her to tears again. Instead, I resettled the baby so she could see her a little better. "We're going to have to give her back to her parents, you know," I said. "Assuming they don't try to eat us."

Dorothy's face brightened at that. "I bet I could do it," she said. "As long as I have the Belt on."

"Maybe," I conceded. "But, you know, we couldn't send a little girl like you down to face all those mermaids alone, could we? Some of them might still be angry, and give you trouble. We'd have to come with you, and we don't have the Belt."

She grew thoughtful at that. "Huh," she said. "That's so, I s'pose; but the Belt's got magic powers. The Nome King used to use it for all his magic transformations. Maybe I could use it to hide someone so the mermaids wouldn't bother 'em."

Since I wasn't paying attention to her, the baby made another grab for my nose. If I hadn't shaved off my mustache years ago (Louise said it itched), she probably would've caught hold of it. "Oh no you don't, Missy," I told her- but really, I had to smile, even if she was scowling furiously.

Swift, who had been watching us the whole time, went back to fiddling with his rifle. "You know," he commented without looking up, "I could probably- what was that?"

"What was what?" Dorothy asked, but I'd heard it too.

"That thump?"

Swift nodded. "There it is again-"

"I heard it too," said Dorothy. "And a- why, what on earth are you doing?" That last was addressed to the baby. She was craning her tiny neck, peering over my arm towards the window. It reminded me of the look Prince got when-

Come to think of it, Prince was staring at the window too. And the fur on the back of his neck was beginning to bristle. I glanced over to Swift, but he knew what I was going to say already. Without a word he set the rifle down and pulled out his tin of wax. "Dorothy," I said quietly, "have you ever held a baby before?"

"Oh yes. Munchkin babies, mostly." I must've looked pretty blank, because she added, "They're people in Oz. They're just like reg'lar babies, only smaller."

"All right." The baby squirmed a little. "You had better put some of that wax in your ears, because I'm going to need you to hold this little girl for me." She nodded obediently, tucked the stuff in, and took the baby from me. I thought for a second and called Prince over; he let me block his ears as easily as he had Miss Poppins. Then it was only a matter of my own ears. (Let me tell you, neither deafness nor the feel of squishy wax is anything I care to repeat again. If another case like this ever comes up, I hope it's not until after Swift's finished his work on the vibrating metal.)

After that the whole thing seemed- well. There was an old prospector I knew in Forty Mile who told me once about a dream he had, a nightmare of sorts. He had fallen through the ice of the Yukon River in winter and floated downstream. There were people standing along the riverbank, talking and working. None of them seemed to see him. He tried to call out to them, but nobody heard. He kept trying to yell in the dream, but there wasn't the slightest bit of sound coming out of his mouth. Said he was sure he was just about to freeze solid when he woke up.

It was a little bit like that. When I looked up from stopping my ears with wax, Dorothy was very earnestly talking to the baby. Couldn't tell what she was saying, of course, but that didn't matter. She wasn't talking to me. Whatever she was saying, it didn't seem to be having much of an effect. The baby was reaching towards the window with both her tiny hands, squirming as if she thought she could get loose and crawl away somehow. Swift's eyes were wide with alarm, maybe because he had one hand on the inside of the shutters. As I looked to him, he lifted his free hand and made a scratching- no, a clawing- gesture. Then he jerked his thumb towards the shutters.

J. had said the Sirens had chewed their way through the hulls of the Scottish fleet. Down at the docks, the Sirens we'd met had had claws long enough to climb up the pilings and onto the quay. And the baby had those selfsame claws.

I breathed easier as Swift turned from the window to pick up his rifle, but as I reached for my own, Prince nudged my leg. I looked up in time to see Dorothy silently reprimand the baby one last time- before she headed straight towards the window herself. Swift was shaking his head furiously, mouthing words at her that I'm sure she couldn't hear, but it didn't seem to have any kind of effect. Prince looked up at me piteously, one big helpless whimper made flesh. To tell the truth, I felt the same way. I could have ordered him to stop Dorothy, but with the wax, what would be the use? All I could do was point- then again, this was Prince, and that was enough. He wagged his tail and bounded towards the window, but too late. Dorothy already had her hand on the shutter-

The door to the room swung open, revealing the form of Mary Poppins. Prince tugged at the little girl's sleeve, turning her around. I pulled one of my earplugs out in time to hear her say, "Get away from those shutters, Dorothy."

It's been a long time since I've seen someone so young look so surprised. Between the order from Miss Poppins and the fact that Prince was still tugging at her sleeve, she couldn't help stepping away. Miss Poppins nodded. "Very good," she said. "Now, if you please, give her to me."

I thought I saw Dorothy's arms pull the water-baby in a little bit tighter at that. It didn't help the baby's disposition any- she let out a whimper and struggled to reach for the window again. Miss Poppins sighed. "Dorothy," she said, a bit more kindly, "I have just spoken with a proper Mermaid aboard our dirigible. The entire hotel grounds, particularly the walls and windows leading up to this very room, are overed with angry Sirens. They want this little one back."

Dorothy turned and stared at the shutters a moment, then looked down at the baby in her arms. "I'm s'prised at you," she said reproachfully. "Why, those fish-ladies-"

"Would like her back, Dorothy. Now, give me the baby."

With a sigh, the girl obeyed. It still made no difference to the water baby, who just kept struggling towards the window. "Thank you, Dorothy," said Miss Poppins. Dorothy murmured a "y'r welcome", which seemed to be enough for the nanny. "We're going back to the dirigible now," she declared, straightening up. "With any luck, this will all be cleared up quite soon."

Almost as soon as Miss Poppins had left the room, Swift turned to the shutters. He rapped on one with a knuckle, then nodded slightly. "The weight's gone," he said. "Bet you we can open them now."

"But Miss Poppins said-"

"She didn't say anything about opening the windows after she left, now, did she?" Swift grinned. "Besides, I want to see."

He threw the shutters open. They kicked up a puff or two of sawdust and shavings. Apparently, the Sirens had been a quarter of an inch away from getting into the room with us. Swift started poking at the cuts, but I stuck my head out far enough to look down instead. There were still Sirens clinging to the building- headed downwards, true, but that just made it worse somehow. The yard looked like a pine tree fallen after a storm, there were that many spines and bristles casting shadows in the moonlight. Not one of the Sirens was moving, either. They were all staring up at Miss Poppins and the baby as she serenely glided away. That seemed to be what they were looking for; as soon as she'd passed over, they started inching their way back across the land in the direction of our airship.

"There's a sight I could have gone my whole life without seeing," I muttered, pulling back into the Inn.

"Oh, I don't know. They're interesting, in a dangerous sort of way."

"Swift-"

"Call me Tom, Sergeant. We don't stand on ceremony in America."

"All right, Tom. I'd rather not have an interesting death, if it's all the same to you."

He laughed. "I thought Mounties were supposed to be brave!" he said, clapping me on the shoulder. I just smiled back.

"I thought Sirens were supposed to be myths."

"All right, fair enough…" He grinned, stepping away from the window.

"So what do we do now?" piped up Dorothy. "We can't really follow Miss Poppins and the others, can we?"

"Not while they're in the dirigible, no," I told her. "They might be a while, too. I think it might be a good idea if we were to get you to your bed now. You can get some sleep, and when Miss Poppins comes back, I'll wake you up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

So we got her to bed, at least for a little while. Tom and I stayed up, taking turns watching at the window. I would've liked a nap myself, but it wouldn't be a good idea to fall asleep in the middle of a case like this. If anything went wrong we'd be up to our noses in Sirens again. We were lucky, though. In the end it was neither Miss Poppins nor angry Sirens that greeted us; it was Danner, clinging to the dirigible's ladder and knocking at the window with a vast grin on his face. "Come on up," he yelled. "Wait until you see our guest!"

Like any other sleepy child, Dorothy grumbled a little when I shook her awake, but we got her and Toto up the ladder easily enough. Danner had to carry Prince, which didn't go over well at all. The rest of us made it up on our own, and as soon as Prince could be coaxed out from under the furniture again, Danner led us to-

"That's the bathroom," stated Tom.

Danner nodded.

"People don't like being disturbed in the bathroom, Hugo."

"Oh, trust me," said Danner, "it won't be a problem." He threw open the door.

Lord Wimsey, Lamont Cranston, and Miss Poppins all stood gathered around the tub (I'm still surprised that a dirigible has a bathtub, but who am I to say what belongs on those things and what doesn't?). As the door opened, Miss Poppins looked our way, nodded, and stepped to one side. The tub, it seemed, was- ah- occupied, and by the 'proper Mermaid' she had mentioned earlier. At least, that's what I assume the lady was. She certainly looked the part, being covered in red-orange scales from the waist down and not much more than long blonde hair from the waist up. Someone had given her a cup of tea. I had just enough time to realise she'd been given the newly-hatched baby, too- seemed to be nursing it, in fact- before averting my eyes. A lady's a lady, half fish or no.

"Ah, the gang's all here!" exclaimed Lord Wimsey brightly. "Madame, these are our companions, Sergeant Preston-"

I tipped my hat to her. "Ma'am."

She watched all of us with startled eyes as the introductions went on. "You've already met Hugo, of course," said Lord Wimsey merrily. "This is Mr. Tom Swift, he's an inventor of sorts. Comes from America, but that can't be helped. And this little lady is Dorothy Gale-"

"Oh, yes!" said the Mermaid, suddenly smiling. Her English was perfect, with an accent I couldn't quite place. "From Kansas!"

You can imagine the silence that descended over the room at that. Dorothy was the first to break it. "Why- why yes, that's so," she said. "But how on Earth do you know me?"

The Mermaid set down her tea a little awkwardly and waved one webbed hand. "It's not important."

I would have liked to question her a bit then, but Lord Wimsey spoke up first. "Ah- yes... so. Now you know the lot of us, that's settled. The lady here was just telling me about the trouble her people have been having- you see, their Queen's been stolen and she's being held captive. Seems that's where all those eggs in boxes were coming from. She and her, ah, sisters want them back, only they can't do it themselves-"

"Why's that?" asked Tom.

For answer, the Mermaid held up her webbed hand again. "They can't seem to get a proper grip, you see," said Lord Wimsey. "Not without harming themselves. I was just about to make them an offer when you lot arrived- seems the fangy crowd are just as much interested in getting their Queen and their eggs back. I was thinking- if we could have some time in which we'd be assured there wouldn't be any spiny interference, I don't see why our little group might not be able to locate this Queen and set her free, eh?"

"She could be anywhere," murmured Cranston.

"She is here, somewhere," said the Mermaid. "In this city. But we cannot reach her, because of the humans holding her captive."

I started to speak then, but Miss Poppins asked my question for me. "If we found your Queen and set her free, will the attacks on shipping here stop?"

"Yes," said the Mermaid. "All we want is our mother and our eggs back. They have taken our cove, but there are others. We must have our Queen back if we are to survive."

"How will we know her if we see her?" asked Tom.

The Mermaid stared at him, as if he'd just asked something very, very stupid. "She's big," she said. "You'll know."

"Well, that settles it, then," said Lord Wimsey. "We'll find out where those boxed eggs are coming from, and that'll lead us to the Queen. After that it's just a matter of getting past whatever guards and locks the blackguards who've got her might have and letting her go."

It sounded simple, but in my opinion, there was something a little too simple about it. "Have we got any leads?" I asked cautiously.

"Why yes, Sergeant. There was a name on the boxes- JAP Shipping." Lord Wimsey looked to the Mermaid. "All right, then, miss. What d'you say? Can you ask your companions to let us do that? It's rather harder than you'd think to find people when you're being chased by carnivorous Sirens."

The Mermaid thought about this for a while. At least, I assume she did, as I was gauging the others' reactions. Dorothy, of course, seemed to think this the most natural thing in the world. Cranston's face had a calculating look. Danner seemed to be taking it all in pretty good stride, and Swift- well, he looked to be just bursting with unasked questions. Finally, the Mermaid spoke.

"I will go back to my sisters and tell them. You will have twenty-four of your hours."

"Thank you very much, miss," said Lord Wimsey politely, "but if it-"

"Twenty-four hours," repeated the Mermaid. "That is all we can spare you."

"Well," said Miss Poppins, "if that's the case, then there's no use wasting time about it. Mr. Cranston, I believe your services are needed in the pilot's room." He nodded and left. "Dorothy, if you would be so kind, please get the lady a blanket."

"What for, Miss Poppins?"

The distant hum of the dirigible's engine changed in pitch. "We're going to return the Mermaid and the baby to their people," said Miss Poppins, "and she's got to get out of the tub."

I didn't see much of that part, you can imagine. The Mermaid handed her teacup back to Lord Wimsey and swung her tail over the side of the tub. I caught a glimpse of the end of her tail changing from translucent fish-fin to a perfectly ordinary pair of human feet before I looked away. It's downright unnerving to see something like that happen before your eyes. Like watching a glacier calve off an iceberg into the ocean, you see something that ought to be one way suddenly break up and fall into something else altogether. Doesn't really seem the sort of thing a man ought to be around to watch. Fortunately, it was done quickly and Dorothy came back straight away with the blanket. "Here you are, miss," she said to the Mermaid.

"Thank you."

Lord Wimsey gestured towards the door then, so we all filed out of the room, the Mermaid at the end of the line. We were already over the harbour by then, and for a moment I wondered if we were going to keep flying out to sea. But no; we started to circle over the harbour, coming lower on each pass until we were barely a stone's throw away from the surface. It was dark out, but from the lights along the dirigible's bottom and the lights of the harbour I could make out the water's surface.

"Dear Lord," I breathed, and I think the others agreed with me. It was full of heads. Mermaids, Sirens, or other kinds of sea people- more than I could possibly begin to count. And every last one of them was staring up at us as Danner pulled the access door open.

"Thank you," said the Mermaid, the blanket falling to the floor at her feet. "Good luck. Remember- twenty-four hours!"

She stepped out the hatch. I could just make out the baby in her arms as she plummeted feet-first towards the water. There was a splash and a moment of silence; then she bobbed to the surface, or someone blonde did, and waved to us. As one, the sea of heads turned to watch us go.

I have had more than enough for today, I think. We have twenty-four hours. I intend to spend the next several of them sleeping. I expect I'll need it if I'm to face tomorrow with any kind of strength.


	12. I Have Heard The Mermaids Singing

Day Ten - Evening Somewhere Over Scotland 

The events of today are rattling around in my head like loose pebbles. I wouldn't be surprised if they set off an avalanche.

We slept aboard the dirigible last night, as the Inn was still locked down. Besides, we'd lost the canvas tarpaulin when Cranston had been forced to launch the beast without warning. No hope of disguising it in the field now. Prince still wasn't happy about being aboard the thing, but he had enough room to curl up next to my bed despite the smaller quarters. When morning came we had to put down, of course. I half expected Cranston to make an escape of his own, the way that man was complaining about the dirigible's lack of coffee. Didn't matter to me much, as they had plenty of tea left and I still had the peach Albert had thrown at me the night before.

Speaking of which, the man was about as forthcoming as a brick. All of us except Lord Wimsey and Danner headed back to the Inn once we'd eaten. Lord Wimsey wanted to speak with the harbour master about JAP Shipping, and Danner said he expected the stevedores' union might be able to help a bit more now that we had a name to go on. I went looking for Albert while they were gone, figuring anyone who knew as much about mermaids as he seemed to know had to have some kind of reason for it. All I got for my troubles was a string of insults, some of which weren't even in English, and a door slammed in my face. Either he's the fastest innkeeper I've ever seen or that place is built like a magician's cabinet- he'd disappeared by the time I got the door open. That kind of thing doesn't sit well with me, so I thought I'd take Prince out for a walk while I considered my next move. As I was attaching the leash to his collar- not that he needs it, but the good people of Glasgow can't be expected to feel safe in an apparent wolf's presence- Dorothy asked if she could bring Toto along. I didn't see why not.

We headed over to Elder Park on the south side of the Clyde River. I thought at first that it must've been named for being the first park in the city, but it wasn't long before we came across a statue of a dignified-looking woman. The base of the statue said she was Isabella Elder, and that she had donated this land to the city as a park in honor of her husband, George Elder. As we were looking her over, Dorothy piped up with, "There's a statue of me in the Winkie Country."

"Is that part of Oz?"

She nodded. "Oh yes. It's in the west. There's the Munchkins in the north, and the Quadlings in the south, and the Gillikins in the east, and right in the center is the Emerald City."

They didn't sound like any Indian names I'd ever heard, and somehow I doubted a girl like this could have found such people in Africa or the Orient. After the events of the night before, I was prepared to believe just about anything might be real- at least until proven otherwise. It couldn't hurt to find out more. "Hmmm. Are they all different countries, or are they-" I stopped before I could say 'provinces' and adjusted the words. "-just part of the same country? You know, the way Kansas is part of your country and the Yukon is part of mine?"

Toto yipped the way small dogs do and started chasing one of the little white butterflies that seemed to like the park so much. "Well, each of them has its own ruler, but Ozma's the Royal Ruler over all of them," said Dorothy. "It's all one country, really."

I nodded. "I see. You must've done something pretty big, if they put up a statue to you."

She giggled. "Not really. I melted the Wicked Witch of the West with a bucket of water, but it wasn't on purpose. But the Winkies were just awf'ly glad that someone had got rid of her."

I was going to ask her then if there was no one in that country to cut off wickedness before it started. I couldn't remember ever hearing of a fairy country with policemen when I was a boy, after all- but she was still talking. "That was the first time I'd ever been to Oz, and I was scared and lonesome and just wanted to get back home to Kansas." She heaved a great sigh, so big it made Prince look up. "And now I just want to get back to Oz."

She looked awfully small just then. I found myself wishing I could make her smile somehow; it's one thing for an adult to feel like that, but a child... "I suppose I can't blame you, Dorothy. It's hard for people to be a long, long way from home, and from the people who love them."

"Like the mermaids' Mother," said Dorothy.

I blinked. Now that she mentioned it... well, somehow the idea hadn't occurred to me. The Mermaid Mother was an egglayer, after all. Then again, I'd held her baby just last night, and one of the other mermaids had nursed it like any human would; how different could they really be? They looked human enough when they changed shape. Perhaps they felt like we did, too. "You know, I suppose you're right. I hadn't been thinking of her, but she probably does miss all her family."

That seemed to be enough for the girl for the moment. Her Toto had finished romping after the butterfly and came running back, flopping down at her feet. There wasn't anyone around so far as I could tell, so I undid Prince's leash for the moment. As I stood back up, she suddenly asked, "Do you miss your home too, Mr. Preston?"

Now what was I supposed to say to a question like that? I didn't belong in a city like this. I didn't even belong in a country like this. Canada's a young country and the Yukon's only just beginning to grow civilized, but here I was standing in the greatest port city of a country so old that even the Romans had been afraid to come here. But how can you say a thing like that to a little girl? All I could do was try my best to find some answer she'd understand. "I suppose I do, Dorothy. This country isn't anything like where I come from, and it's hard not to want to go home sometimes."

"What's it like where you come from?" she asked curiously.

"Wide open, and cold. Even in the summers, the Yukon Territory- that's very far north in Canada- gets cold. At least, compared to here it does. It's still mostly frontier, too, all trees and mountains and rivers where hardly anyone except the Indians and Eskimos have ever been. There's a few cities, but most of the time it's towns and lone cabins, and nothing between them but miles and miles of trail." I could have gone on about it for longer, I imagine, but that seemed like enough. I'm no poet, but I've spent most of my life on patrols all over that territory, and a man who doesn't remember the awe a place like the Yukon puts in him is a man who hasn't got a soul.

Dorothy smiled. "It sounds lovely."

Prince had found himself a spot to roll around on the grass. I reminded myself to check him over and make sure he wasn't rolling in something foul-smelling. "Oh, it is," I said, "if you like that kind of thing. A lot of people don't." She cocked her head curiously, so I explained, "A lot of men come up to get rich on gold or furs, and then they go home to their families. Sometimes they go home without getting rich at all, because it's too lonely for them. I've lived all my life there, though- most of it, anyway. I like the North Country, myself."

She nodded, and I found myself asking, "Have you got family in Oz, Dorothy?"

"My Uncle Henry and Aunt Em. I lived with them in Kansas. But when Uncle Henry lost the farm, Ozma agreed to bring them both to Oz, and we've all lived there ever since."

Well, that almost explained why no one from America had come looking for her. If she was an orphan and her guardians weren't here to know... Very gently, I said, "I see. No parents, then?"

But she wasn't listening. The thought of Oz had set off some chain of ideas that had won her attention instead. "It worked that time. It did work. I made the signal, and Ozma brought me there, direc'ly."

You don't get far interrogating people if you don't let them talk about what's on their mind once in a while instead of what you want to know, so all I asked was, "What time was this?"

"Four o'clock," said Dorothy, "just like we said."

"Oh- I meant when did this happen. Were you in Oz then, or was it Kansas?"

"Kansas," said the little girl. "And Ozma brought me to Oz, and then did the same for Uncle Henry and Aunt Em."

I nodded slowly. "I think it's probably just a matter of time then, Dorothy. I'll bet that if you made the signal when it was four o'clock in Kansas, it'd work properly."

She frowned, shaking her head. "I still don't understand that."

"Well," I asked, "have you ever seen a globe of the world?"

"They had one in the reading room at the asylum. It didn't have Oz on it."

Inside I winced, but all I said was, "I imagine it wouldn't, since globes don't show fairy places. The world's round just like a globe, and it turns all the time- very slowly, so we don't notice it any more than someone in a boat would notice the boat moving if they had their eyes shut. That's what makes it different times of day. It's noon when the sun's directly over the town hall, isn't it?"

"I s'pose..."

"Well, that's how it is. And since the world is round, if it's noon on one side it's midnight on the other, and other times in all the places in between. I bet if you made the signal when it was four o'clock in Kansas, your friend Ozma would see you. That'll be- if I remember right, that'll be at ten o'clock tonight."

"Huh," she said, getting very thoughtful indeed.

I might've said something else then, but Prince's tail suddenly perked up at the sight of other people in the park. That meant it was time to put his leash back on, and once that was done, we didn't really have much reason to stay there. Dorothy called Toto over to her, and the lot of us went back to the inn.

Lord Wimsey was already there when we got back, with Danner close behind him. "Ah, good, there you two are, was beginning to wonder what'd become of you," he said breezily. "We've got a bit more of a lead- a proper name, this time."

Prince settled himself at my feet as we all sat down around the table where we'd hatched the egg the night before. "Go on."

"Seems JAP stands for J. Alfred Prufrock Shipping. Harbour-master didn't seem to know much about 'em- they're a standoffish bunch as companies go, keep to themselves a lot. They pay an astonishing amount of money to keep it that way."

"The stevedores' union says they hire their own workers," volunteered Danner. "All foreigners."

"Quite right, quite right, old chap. Likely they're South Seas islanders, as that's where the harbour-master says the company hails from."

Danner nodded. "The union didn't know, since the Prufrock Shipping workers don't even drink at the same places the others do. They just unload the boats and work in their warehouse."

"They've got a warehouse?" I asked. "Where?"

Lord Wimsey produced a scrap of note-paper from one pocket. "Managed to convince the harbour-master to at least give me the address. Seemed to think I was some kind of lunatic for offering to invest in the company. They don't even take outside backers, never mind workers- quite a peculiar concern, wouldn't you say?"

Cranston peered at the paper. "That's not where the eggs were," he said after a moment. "Those boxes were ... that's halfway across the harbor, isn't it?"

"Right," said Danner. "The warehouse is right on the water- I went down to have a look. It's partly built on the pier, but part of it stands on pilings out over the water. They've got guards on the place, but I don't know how many. Two that I know of, for sure."

All of us looked at each other then. I'd lay good gold dust that we were all thinking the same thing: that warehouse with the guards was where the Mermaid Queen was being held prisoner.

"Well, gentlemen," said Mary Poppins, "it looks quite as if we have our work cut out for us. Some of us are going to have to release the Queen, and some of us are going to have to return those eggs to their rightful home."

"Don't you think that's being a little hasty?" asked Cranston. "We need to do some proper reconnaissance first. No offense meant to Mr. Danner, but someone's got to confirm whether that warehouse is the place we want- and if there are any more guards- or if it's just a diversion."

"Are you volunteering, Mr. Cranston?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." He smiled, a faintly disturbing expression.

"Very well. Mr. Cranston, go and see what you can see, then report back to us. In the meantime we shall discuss our options based on what we know so far."

He rose and left. I found myself hoping he was as good at his style of finding things out as he seemed to think he was; you don't call yourself 'The Shadow' if you haven't got stealth to back up the name. That wasn't on my mind for long, though. Tom Swift was earnestly discussing his original metal net.

"That what you were working on during the blimp ride up here?" asked Danner.

"Yep. Got a pretty good-sized one built, too. I was thinking that if this warehouse hangs over the water, we might not have to worry about guards at all, so long as someone could swim in there from below."

"So what would you need the net for?"

Tom shrugged. "Just because our mermaid friend says they'll hold off on us for twenty-four hours doesn't mean there might not be other things in the water. It'd be easier to hold them off in a good strong net than to learn to use spears and knives under water this quickly."

"A valid point," murmured Miss Poppins. "Mr. Swift, can you swim?"

"Ah- no, not really..."

"I can," said Danner. "And you wouldn't have to worry about me holding my breath, either."

"It's a big net, Hugo. We're going to need two men for it." Tom looked over at Lord Wimsey, who shook his head regretfully.

"I can swim," I said, a little surprised to hear myself saying it. They all looked at me. "Well enough to survive, anyway. It can't be much harder than keeping my head above water in the Klondike River."

"All right, then, that's two- assuming we pursue that particular course of action." Miss Poppins pursed her lips in thought. "It might not be a bad idea to have our swimmers come up from below while some of us approach on foot, or from above."

"Above?" asked Danner, a little surprised. "I thought that-" Miss Poppins smiled, glancing across the room to where her umbrella stood beside the door. "Ah. Question withdrawn, ma'am."

"Very good. We'll decide who handles the egg question once Mr. Cranston comes back. I believe, in the meantime, that we ought to assume no more than two or three remain available for the land approach... two guards, you said?"

"That's right."

"Well, then. The question of the hour is: how do we get them out of the way?"

"I could run up to them crying," suggested Dorothy, "and say I was lost, or that my papa was in trouble. I bet they'd try an' help then."

"I don't know, Dorothy. Mr. Danner said they were foreigners. Even if they spoke English, they might just send you away."

"Oh." The girl frowned a little, but nodded.

It was probably the best suggestion to be thrown out for a while. Most of the other possible distractions had too many flaws in them to work. The discussion got frustrating quickly. I have to say, I was relieved to see Mr. Cranston come back. There was an odd, almost haunted look to his eyes. I've seen it before, when innocent people've stumbled across a murder victim. I never expected to see it on him.

"Well?" asked Miss Poppins.

"The warehouse is the right place," said he, sliding back into his seat at the table. "I've seen for myself... There are two guards flanking the main entrance, but they don't patrol the property very often." There was scorn in his voice, I can only assume at their carelessness. "It gave me enough of an opening to climb one of the side walls; the building's barely two storeys tall, and there's a skylight on the roof."

"Locked?" asked Danner.

Cranston smiled again. "Not any more." Then he sobered. "I got my look inside. It's going to be... difficult. The entire warehouse is filled with tanks, and each tank is filled to the brim with water- and eggs- and ice. How close they are to hatching I couldn't say, but..." He gave a quick shake of the head. "I saw no guards inside, human or otherwise, but from such a height it would be impossible to say for sure. What I do know is this: beyond a doubt, they have the Mermaid Queen. Our guest didn't exaggerate in the slightest."

"Sizable lady, then?" Lord Wimsey.

Cranston looked at him, a long, cool look. Finally, he said, "Are you familiar with the stories of the monster in Loch Ness?"

"You're joking!"

"I assure you, I'm not." Cranston passed a hand over his face. "I'm not talking about size alone, either. That creature- or something very much like it- IS the Mermaid Queen. She resembles nothing so much as a Charles Knight painting. They've got her strapped down over an extra-huge tank full of water. It might've been the light playing tricks on me, but I would swear there were eggs lining the bottom."

"So... they've got a dinosaur laying mermaid eggs by the score..."

"Which are being hatched out into a seagoing army of inhuman monsters." Cranston's expression was grim. I think all of ours were, at that point. "It looks like this is why they needed the League, gentlemen; today Glasgow, tomorrow the British Empire."

"Then there is no time at all to lose," said Miss Poppins. "Gentlemen, we are going to pay a call on J. Alfred Prufrock Shipping."

"How do you intend to get past the guards?" Cranston asked.

"Why, by telling them an army of mermaids is storming the warehouse," she said simply. "Either they will be accustomed to this and be easily distracted as they look for their allies' arrival, or they- like everyone else in Glasgow- will run for their lives. Mr. Danner, Sergeant Preston, you won't be swimming today."

"Good," I muttered. "I didn't bring trunks."

There might have been a ghost of a smile on her face, or not. I couldn't tell. "You will, however, be needed down at the warehouse- out of sight until the guards have been removed from the picture. Unless-" She looked inquiringly at Danner.

"How big is that skylight, Mr. Cranston?" asked the big fellow. Cranston indicated an opening about as long as he was tall, and some three or four feet across. "All right, I could fit through that... problem is, if I don't land exactly right I could punch through the floor. Is it over the part of the warehouse that juts into the water?"

"I think so."

"Might need to bring a rope, just in case." Danner steepled his fingers in thought. "I can jump up there, Miss Poppins. Two storeys won't be a problem. And when it comes time to let her Majesty out I can probably punch right through the pilings holding the place up."

"One step at a time, Mr. Danner. But thank you for keeping the end in mind. You'll be coming to the warehouse, as will Mr. Cranston. Lord Wimsey, if you would be so good-" Her eyes lighted a moment on Dorothy. "Someone's got to begin opening those boxes that aren't in the warehouse."

"But I won't be in any danger!" protested Dorothy. "And I can help Mr. Wimsey sneak in! Watch!" She got up from her chair and called Toto over to her. "Now, Toto, I'm going to turn you invisible again for these nice people-"

"Again?" Tom murmured, eyebrows raised.

Dorothy didn't seem to notice. "-so be good." She closed her eyes, making a very determined face- and the little terrier vanished from sight. Not from the room, though. His familiar barking started up almost immediately, sounding just like the dog was running in circles about her.

I'll tell you, if I didn't believe in the magic of this Oz place before, I did now. I've seen conjurers before. They have to do all kinds of things to distract the audience and hide their target if they're going to make something disappear, and when you've been a policeman as long as I have you recognize that kind of behavior. She didn't show a single sign of it. This, as far as I could tell, was real. From the sound of the exclamations, the others felt the same way.

"Now," said Dorothy with some satisfaction, "I'm going to turn him back." She concentrated again for a moment, but the dog failed to appear. "Toto?"

More barking. The edge of Dorothy's skirt suddenly moved, looking for all the world as if two little paws had just pressed up against it. She smiled. "Oh, there you are." As she closed her eyes again, the dog suddenly reappeared, jumping into her arms as if nothing had happened at all.

Danner sat back in his chair, looking stunned. Tom's expression as he watched the dog was thoughtful- you could all but see his invention idea taking shape. Lord Wimsey, on the other hand, looked like a small boy about to come down the stairs on Christmas morning. "Try it on me now, Dorothy," he urged. "I'd quite like to see."

"All right, Mr. Wimsey." Setting Toto back down on the floor, the little girl concentrated again. I don't think there wasn't an eye in the room fixed on Lord Wimsey, so you can imagine the general reaction when- well-

There's no kind way to put this. The magic went wrong. Instead of turning invisible, Lord Wimsey lit up like a lightbulb.

"Oh! Oh, my..." I don't know if that was Dorothy or Lord Wimsey. Not sure it matters, really, since that covered pretty much everyone's sentiments. I mean, the man outshone the room's supply of sunlight! Judging from the look of horror on Dorothy's face, she hadn't been prepared for that at all. It didn't seem to bother Lord Wimsey, though- he was staring at his glowing hands in complete fascination, turning them this way and that. "I can change you back, Mr. Wimsey, oh, please let me try and change you back!" Dorothy pleaded.

"No! No, no, that'll be quite all right- no need to worry-" I don't think I'll ever take a tooth polish advertisement seriously again. You don't get a more dazzling smile than one that's giving off light of its own. "It doesn't hurt a bit, and we did want a distraction, didn't we? I'd say I'm pretty distracting now."

"But-"

"I assure you, I'm quite all right. Why don't we just go with this and see how we fare for now, eh?" He leaned over and patted Dorothy on the head with one glowing hand.

With a sigh, Miss Poppins shook her head. "Well, that's something to keep in mind... Mr. Danner, Mr. Cranston, since access is easiest for the two of you, I'd like you to conceal yourselves in the vicinity of the warehouse. Lord Wimsey and the others, you'll be handling the egg-boxes- many hands make light work."

"Literally, in my case."

She ignored him. "I will handle the distraction myself. Useful as Lord Wimsey's condition may be, it's more important at the moment that we make headway on the boxes while we still have time. Dorothy, you're going to help them. Are we clear?"

"Almost, Miss Poppins," said Danner. "What if the guards don't believe the mermaid army story?"

She blinked at his words and said, in the most purely puzzled voice, "Why should they not?"

"Well, they-"

"Mr. Danner, I assure you that it will happen. We haven't time to argue. You and Mr. Cranston should take up your positions now, while the others obtain pry-bars and other such necessary equipment. I will meet you at the docks shortly."

Since the idea of trying to liberate a full-sized dinosaur (something I had only ever seen in textbook drawings before) didn't appeal to me, I made no objection. Dorothy looked very disappointed, though. As we filed out of the room to find our supplies, Prince and I fell in alongside her. "Something wrong?"

"People always want to leave me behind, or put me out of the way," she said, kicking at the floor. "I've had all kinds of adventures in Oz an' the other fairy countries, but they still treat me like I'm just a little girl. I don't get to do ANYTHING interesting here."

"You know, Dorothy," I told her, "she sent me to the egg boxes too. And Tom Swift and Lord Wimsey. I have a feeling a group like ours can make something interesting happen even if we're not in the same place as the Mermaid Queen."

I have got to learn to stop saying things like that. They happen.

We got our tools together and headed over to the docks where Lord Wimsey said the egg boxes lay. There were Mermaids- no, Sirens- lurking in the waters just out of reach. I don't think anyone not looking for them would have spotted them, as they did an excellent job of hiding in the shadows. None of them made any particular gestures towards us, but I could feel their eyes following the group. It wasn't a comfortable situation, so you can imagine my relief when the boxes came into view.

Several hundred was a bit of an understatement. You could have built Dawson City in miniature with that many crates. I'll admit, I was uncomfortable with tearing up a company's property at first, but as soon as I saw that all of the boxes contained the same sort of egg as we'd hatched- well. Where I come from, there's no particular need to respect private property if someone's being held there against their will. If it's a baby that's been kidnapped, the law presumes that it'd object. Given a few hours and a little warmth, the eggs would hatch out into proper water babies, and that was good enough for me. I set to prying those boxes open with no qualms whatsoever. So did the others; I think the only problem we really had was keeping the lids intact, as Tom was pretty enthusiastic about his wrenching.

We were making fairly good headway, and starting to wonder aloud about whether we should have someone bring the eggs down to the Sirens as a gesture of good faith, when Prince sat up and gave a low bark. I set down my crowbar and turned to see what had caught his attention.

"Oh, look!" Dorothy exclaimed, from the end of the alley that had led us to the boxes. We crowded around behind her.

Miss Poppins had summoned an army.

I am completely serious. serious. I didn't see Miss Poppins herself, but I can't imagine anyone else in the city could possibly have gotten the Sirens to swarm down the street in formation. I thought I had seen the worst of them the other night, when they were climbing the walls of the Three Fishes Inn. I'd been wrong. This lot wasn't merely angry, they were enraged. If those needle-toothed mouths could have spit fire they would've done it, and damn the consequences. They slithered and heaved their way down the street at a frightening pace, looking like a salmon run gone horribly, horribly wrong. God help any poor fool who got in their way! They'd have torn obstacles apart without batting an eye, I'm sure of it. Stone, steel, or flesh, it would've gone to pieces if it got between them and the warehouse.

Prince growled softly, moving to position himself between us and the Sirens, but not a one of them noticed. Thank Heaven for small mercies. And I do mean small, because there was more to come. The greenish-silvery mass of Sirens wriggled their way past, only to be replaced by- erm- the other sort of mermaid. On foot. A lot of them. Blazingly angry too, I'm sure, but I couldn't say for certain as I wasn't looking. I have a feeling human propriety doesn't mean much when you're on the warpath against the people who stole your Queen and Mother. Doesn't make it any easier to see, but it's an explanation, at least... I mumbled something like 'dear Lord in Heaven', I don't remember what, and did my best not to meet the eyes of the others.

There were an awful lot of the walking mermaids, and if you looked over their heads towards the back of the group you could just about make out another mass of oncomers, colourful as tropical birds but as angry as the rest. "You know," I said, "I have a feeling that they're going to need us down at the warehouse very soon."

"Well said, old chap." Lord Wimsey glanced at the stream of Mermaids passing us. "There's a back way out of here. If we move quickly I imagine we can get there early and beat the mid-day rush."

We ran through the back way after him. It's not as if we had another choice, really. The Mermaid army blocked the streets, the waters were simply out of the question, and the idea of climbing the buildings and racing across the rooftops of Glasgow was just ludicrous. Fortunately Lord Wimsey was as luminous as ever, so there were no stumbles or false footings. Even Dorothy managed to keep up with the group. Lord Wimsey stopped a fraction of an instant before reaching the end of the passageway between the buildings, holding up one hand. "Found the warehouse," he called over his shoulder, "but the army's not here yet- and the guards are still at their posts."

"What are we going to do?" asked Tom.

"We?" Lord Wimsey smiled at the American sunnily. "What do you mean, we?" And with that he stepped out into the street, waving both arms frantically.

"Oh, man, he's gonna get killed!" Tom shook his head, edging forward. "Here- Miss Gale, you be careful."

I poked my head out in time to see Lord Wimsey approaching the guards. They were foreigners, all right- dark-skinned and powerfully built, unlike any of the workers I'd seen in Vancouver. It was hard to tell at such a distance, but there was something about their stance that seemed to say the luminous man approaching them had caught them at a loss. He was saying something- couldn't hear what- and pointing repeatedly at the main approach to the docks. As he spoke, the taller of the two men suddenly straightened and let out an exclamation.

"That," Tom said, "would be our Mermaids." He grinned. "And looky there, the short one's got some sense in him after all- he's taking Wimsey inside."

Just as he said it, the Sirens started to surge up the street. The taller guard braced himself warily, but stayed at his post. "I don't know, Tom," I murmured. "If you were one man with no gun, and you saw a sight like that... what would make you stay where you were?"

He opened his mouth, thought for a second, then turned and looked again at the warehouse. "He's expecting backup," he said slowly. "Lots of backup."

I nodded. "And we don't have the electric rifles."

"Well- no- but the people inside do-"

"And they're probably too busy with their own problems to hear any of this- someone's got to warn them!"

"I'll do it," said Tom, measuring the building with a glance. "I think I can probably get around the side and up there if there are enough handholds. What about you two?"

"I think we- Good Lord!"

The docks had erupted with Sirens, and not our Sirens, either. THAT would explain why the second guard hadn't gone anywhere: the reinforcements were waiting for their moment to strike from the water around and below the warehouse. As they lunged up onto the land, they flung themselves at our Sirens. The screeching began almost instantly, and I dug frantically into my pockets for the tin of wax. Prince yelped, pawing at his ears. They weren't directing the scream at us, thank goodness, but even so! I snagged Prince's collar for just long enough to jam the pellets of wax in before blocking my own ears. By the time I looked up Tom was gone. Didn't seem to have been hit by the Sirens, nor by the eggs- yes, the eggs, they'd gotten hold of a batch from somewhere and were flinging them at our lot. The walking Mermaids had joined the fray despite their lack of armament, tearing into the egg-throwers like maddened savages. I shuddered, wishing like mad for one of Tom's rifles. My revolver wasn't going to cut it against this bunch.

I couldn't fire into a crowd like that without hitting one of our own Mermaids or Sirens anyway. As I turned away from the sight I looked to Dorothy, planning to say something- but she wasn't there. She'd slipped around when I was plugging Prince's ears and was making for the warehouse at an amazingly good clip for a girl her age. Straight through the arc of fire of the egg-throwing Sirens, too. "DOROTHY!" I bellowed, racing out into the open. She didn't hear me. If she did she certainly didn't show it. Probably too busy being clawed at by Sirens who couldn't seem to find purchase on her, or dodging eggs the size of her head. I drew my gun and took aim at the bunch nearest to her- if nothing else, I could distract them. Or... I reholstered the gun and slapped Prince's shoulder to get his attention. Then I pointed at the warehouse door. "That man!" I said, though I knew he couldn't hear me. "The one by the door! Get him before he gets the girl!"

I've known men who've said dogs are nothing but wastes of fur, or a way to get around the North Country. I've seen dogs that wouldn't have lasted two minutes in any life other than the life of a household pet. I've seen good sled dogs and bad ones, half-wolves, pure-breeds, and everything in between. But watching Prince bolt like a streak of silver lightning for the only warehouse guard left, I remembered something an American Marine once told me about the military dogs down in the States. They call them "the bullets you can recall."

I don't know about recall, since he did have the wax in his ears, but the bullet part? That much was true. The guard didn't stand a chance. Prince leapt at him, knocking him to the ground in a blink of the eye. Several of the egg-throwers started towards him, but they weren't the only ones with raised hackles and bared fangs that day. Prince stood over the fallen guard, growling and glaring at any Siren fool enough to dare approach. Dorothy had already slipped through the door and into the warehouse; with any luck that meant she was out of danger. It looked like my only chance, so I dashed across the open space, pulled the wax from my ears, and signaled Prince to step aside.

The dark-skinned man was too stunned to do more than whimper as I grabbed his collar and hauled him upright. For his size, he was surprisingly heavy. "These Sirens came from the warehouse, didn't they? Who's giving them orders?" His eyes were darting everywhere- wouldn't look me in the face. I gave him a shake and demanded, "Where's your boss? Answer me!"

Well, that got a response- a stream of terrified babbling any confessor would be proud to hear- but it was about as useful as a wet rag. I can understand a few words of Eskimo, but South Sea Islander is completely beyond me. "ENGLISH, man!" I roared, but it was no use; he repeated the babble, wild-eyed with what looked like terror. I snorted and dropped him. The Sirens were at a safe enough distance. Prince was all the protection he'd need, anyway, since it looked like our side had managed to drive the worst of them into retreat. As long as they stayed in the waters and well away from the warehouse pilings, we'd be all right. True, there were noises coming from inside, but by the sound of it Tom had got hold of one of the electric rifles and Cranston was having a field day with those .45s of his. Something was bellowing like a wounded bull moose, too. I assumed that was the Mermaid Queen; maybe they'd got her loose. If she was as big as Cranston said she could probably be a real asset in a fight.

I couldn't get to the waters, but then again, I didn't have to. Our little army was doing a pretty good job of handling that; by now the only enemy Sirens left were clustered around the warehouse proper, spines flaring furiously. They weren't bothering to scream now- a very real relief, believe me. The fangs and claws were bad enough. It occurred to me momentarily that there was just enough space along the quay now to bring in reinforcements. Carefully, since Prince was standing over the fallen guard and keeping the Sirens at bay, I made my way back towards the pavement. Nothing was coming up from the alleys that I could see, or from the street the army had just taken. At least, not so far as I could see. There were an awful lot of businesses about, though, and more places to hide a man or two than your average young forest. For all I knew, there might have been someone coming right-

**click**

- up behind me. I started to reach for my revolver.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a dry, thin-sounding male voice. "This is an Enfield SMLE Mark 3. You don't stand a chance."

Under normal circumstances I would have set Prince on the speaker, visible or not. That, however, would have required Prince to be able to hear me call. I dropped my hand.

"Smart move," said the man. His voice was coming from a few feet behind me. "Now get your hands up... thank you. You're going to go inside and tell your friends to stop molesting my mermaids."

I calculated the odds of grabbing the rifle away at that distance should I whirl around, and they weren't good. When you've been threatened, shot at, and shot up as much as I have, you get to know this kind of thing. It's like an instinct. You also get good at instinctively judging people, and from the sound of it, this was a man who would pull the trigger on me- but not until he had what he wanted. Without turning around, I calmly asked him, "Whom shall I say is calling?"

"Mr. Prufrock. Now get moving."

Fangs and spines glistened, black eyes glittering as the fish-women turned away from the growling Prince to stare at us. "I think your Sirens might not cooperate," I pointed out.

Something whizzed past my head in a wobbly arc, landing with a squelch on the quay in front of me. The Sirens recoiled, hissing even more. "Pick it up," ordered Prufrock. It was an overripe, faintly rancid peach. "They can't stand the smell. You're only safe as long as you still smell of 'em. Take it and get moving."

I didn't seem to have much of a choice. Wonder dog or no, Prince had no way of getting past the Sirens without cutting himself to ribbons. I shook my head at him and mouthed 'stay!' before scooping the peach up and entering the warehouse, Prufrock's rifle squarely pointed at my back.

Outside had been chaos. Inside there was nothing short of war. The office we passed through barely registered- as soon as the door swung shut behind Prufrock, the noises of the fray within the warehouse proper surged up to meet us. Some immensely deep-voiced animal bellowing, the smashing of glass, the heavy thudding of weapons against flesh, the crackle of Tom's electric rifles; I couldn't have sorted it all out if I tried. I'd have been happier going into that mess with a detachment of my fellow Mounties, or even just Prince, but Prufrock had a way of clearing his throat that cut across the din. Not wanting to drop the peach, I kicked the door open with one foot.

The scene that presented itself was even worse than the sounds had led me to believe. There were Sirens everywhere- snarling, hissing, rage-maddened Sirens in full battle display. Their grey-green forms slid about the warehouse floor with unnerving ease, since the place was miserably slick. It looked as if someone had managed to open an enormous door in the part of the warehouse that hung over the ocean, and had somehow pumped in enough sea water to give the creatures a mobility advantage. Not that it could have been easy for them, given the sheer amount of shattered glass that glittered in the interior light- my fellow League members had been busy smashing tanks, it seemed. And they were doing amazingly well, too, given that they were under assault by the killer fish-women. I could see Miss Poppins still laying into one of the tanks with a sledgehammer. Danner was on the far side of the room, battling the Sirens unarmed- and, it seemed, unharmed! Could the stories from the War have been true? There wasn't a mark on him! Or on Dorothy, for that matter- for all that she was surrounded by Sirens, they seemed unable to touch her. They couldn't even get close to Wimsey, bright as he was. He wasn't fighting, though; he was using his advantage to work at the straps that...

Here I have to stop for a moment and try to sort out my impressions. When I first encountered the Sirens, I'd had a little time to get used to the idea of them. I'd seen the autopsies, and the photographs of the autopsies. I'd read the eyewitness reports. I'd even had a day or so to let the idea settle into my brain. The Mermaid Mother, on the other hand... Cranston hadn't been able to convey the half of it. The 'monster in Loch Ness' was just a story, a set of fuzzy photographs with no sense behind them. The creature in front of me, whom Lord Wimsey was trying to free, was real- vastly real, beyond what little power I have to describe. No wonder they needed a warehouse to hold her captive! A great mackerel-coloured creature at least as long from nose to tail-tip as ten men, she had a neck bigger than tree trunks. I've seen wilderness cabins smaller than her body, though no cabin ever had such a twitching, heaving paddle of a tail, or clamped-down flippers, either. Nothing- NOTHING- that I have ever seen could have possibly prepared me for that sight, or the tortured, desperate moan she let out. It filled the enormous room, wiping out all the other noises, great and small alike.

When it passed, Prufrock cleared his throat. "Stop, the lot of you!"

There was silence, and every eye was turned to us. And somehow, for all that I was surrounded by Sirens who wanted to kill me and my compatriots, with an enemy holding a gun at my back, in the presence of something too ancient to comprehend, I don't think I felt the slightest bit afraid. I might not have been able to see them all, but I knew every one of our group was here somewhere. The League might not have been the Dawson City RCMP detachment, but as far as I were concerned... they were as good as the same thing.

"These are my mermaids," announced Prufrock. "And if you don't want me to blow the Mountie's head off, you'll quit bothering them right now. Drop the hammers and back away from the tanks, nice and slow-"

The Sirens had come away from the others at the sound of Prufrock's voice. They'd formed up into a hissing, scaly grey semi-circle around the two of us, glaring angrily at me- no, at the peach in my hands- as the man spoke. Knowing a piece of bad fruit was my only shield wasn't an especially comforting thought in the face of a sight like that, so I lifted my eyes to the others in the room. Miss Poppins had lowered her hammer as Prufrock ordered. Lord Wimsey had stepped away from the Queen, and had also run completely out of his glow. Dorothy was standing next to Lord Wimsey looking tense and brittle enough to snap. And over on the other side of the open space, amidst the wreckage of several tanks, was Danner. For all that he'd finally started to bleed, he looked remarkably calm, gazing up at the warehouse's ceiling.

"That's better. Don't think you can stop me, you know. Even if you could, you can't stop the Prufrock Company, no matter who you are."

Danner's eyes dropped and met mine. One hand flickered in a gesture that could only mean one thing- get down. I nodded, once, and took a deep breath.

I hit the floor. From up above, on the other side of the open skylight, Cranston's shots rang out.

The Enfield barked almost instantly, but it was too late- the bullet whined harmlessly over my head. I spun around to face the man, who was crumpling before my eyes. There wasn't much to him- badly parted thinning hair, skinny arms and legs, white flannel trousers rolled up at the bottom, and rapidly growing bloodstains. As he stared at me, riffle sagging, I heard screaming- Dorothy's screaming- and realized we had more trouble than before. There was nothing to hold the Sirens back now. Except, possibly, the one thing I had in my hands.

I've been shot before. It's almost impossible to use an ordinary handgun if the bullet's hit you anywhere near your shoulder. Cranston, bless his blackened heart, had plugged Prufrock squarely through the muscles of the upper chest. There was no way he could lift the Enfield without help, so I turned and hurled the peach to Lord Wimsey with all my strength. "It's the smell!" I yelled to him. "They can't stand the smell! Pass it around!"

Whether he did or not I don't know. To tell you the truth I don't remember very much of what happened next, precisely. I know I turned again and grabbed the Enfield from Prufrock's nerveless hands, but after that it's all a blur. Might've had something to do with one of the warehouse walls collapsing, or Danner leaping across the entire warehouse floor like some kind of giant grasshopper and wrenching the enormous bolt on the Queen's restraints out of the concrete floor as if it were nothing but a weed. There were more gunshots, and Dorothy was still screaming, and the Queen was writhing and bellowing as Prufrock ran like mad for the daylight- it was all too much for any man to follow, so I did the only thing I could. I ran after him. He had a good lead on me, but I had something much more important: the finest dog in the North Country. Prince leapt at Prufrock as soon as he burst out of the door, pinning him to the quay and waiting for me.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one waiting. There was an entire brigade of Sirens- led by Albert, the innkeeper.

I don't mind saying that I came very close to saying something downright unbecoming a gentleman then. After everything else that happened, after all the unbridled insanity in the warehouse- him? He was in on the whole sorry mess? It made sense, of course- it explained how he knew so MUCH- but between the insults, the half-helpful, half-spiteful dribs of information, and his amazing ability to be anywhere but where we could get anything USEFUL out of him- well. Let's just say that the warehouse melee and Prufrock's removal left me short of breath, and leave it at that. All I did was stare at him and let go of Prufrock, who slumped unconscious to the floor. Albert grinned. It was not a heartening expression. "Ye've done a good job, Mountie. You an' the others've done right well." He nodded to the bleeding man at my feet. "Now, why don't y'just hand him over to me an' the girls, and we'll take care of him?"

One of the Sirens made as if to heave herself forward. I waved one peach-reeking hand at her, and she fell back with a glare and a hiss. "We almost got killed by 'the girls'," I said, eyeing Albert.

He shrugged. "I gave ye the peach, didn't I? What'd you do with it?"

"I ate it! What else was I supposed to do with it?" Albert snorted. "Well, I s'pose ye don't need it any more," he conceded. Behind me I could hear the others filing out of the building, and the soft thudding noise of someone hopping onto the quay. "You may as well-"

I caught his eye then. "I want to question him first," I said, with all the determination I could muster.

After a few moments' thought he nodded, and I turned to the others. It looked as if Tom and Lord Wimsey were still in the warehouse, and probably Dorothy, too. "We need ice," I said, "or smelling salts." Danner nodded once and headed back inside. As the Sirens started to round up the ones who had been throwing eggs at us before, Miss Poppins came forward and pressed a bottle into my hand. There was a nudge at my boots; Prince whined softly, shaking his head uncomfortably. He seemed none the worse for wear, only a little ill at ease. "Good boy, Prince," I murmured, pulling his ear-plugs out and wadding them into my pocket.

A flicker of shadow was all the warning I got. Prince and I hopped sideways just in time to give Danner room to land. I'd been too busy to notice the Sirens had formed into a complete ring around us now, or that Danner had managed to leap over the heads of every single person present- finny or otherwise. He seemed to think this was perfectly normal, handing me two huge fistfuls of ice before politely making his way back out through the crowd. Well, that explained how he reached the skylight...

Pouring ice water on a man's face doesn't work as well to wake him up as it does in the stories. Smelling salts, on the other hand, work very well indeed. Prufrock jerked sharply, coughing and letting out a groan as he came back to consciousness.

"It's over, Prufrock," I told him. "You may as well talk."

Pale, shaking, he still managed a look of utter disdain. "Oh, please," he replied. "I won't, and you can't make me. What do you plan to do?"

Cranston wedged his way past the rapidly thickening wall of Sirens. "We haven't got a plan exactly yet," he said, eyes fixed on the bleeding man. "Then again, I don't know that we need one. It looks like the, ah, ladies have a plan of their own."

Prufrock's gaze flickered past him for a moment. "Let them," he said diffidently. "Did you think I was the only one? Prufrock Shipping is bigger than me- you'll never stop the family-"

"And you're out to take over England," continued Cranston. "Is that it?"

Prufrock laughed, a harsh, rasping sound. "England? You've got to be joking! Why on Earth would we want England? It's a pathetic, grey, drizzling dump of a land!"

"The rest of the Empire then," I said. I could have been wrong but I thought I saw a flicker of acknowledgment in his face. "Treason's a hanging offense-"

"That's if he gets to trial," said Cranston, addressing me. "Let the Sirens have him."

I stared at the grey-eyed man. He looked steadily back. "Let them," he urged. "It's what he's earned."

"The man's right, Mountie," came Albert's voice. "The girls'll take care of him. After what he did to 'em, turning 'em against their own kin like that-"

"You be quiet." I looked back to Cranston. "There's more to it. I can't let them do that."

"Can't you?" The Shadow gave me a mirthless smile. "What do you plan to tell the judge? That your prisoner kidnapped the Queen of the Mermaids and held her captive until she could hatch out an army for him? There isn't a judge in the country who'll believe you. You know it. Let them have him."

At that moment I would have given almost anything in the world to wipe that look off his face. That wasn't the look of a human, nor the look of honest rage burning in the eyes of the Sirens. That was the look of something out of Hell. If he had pushed me even one bit farther I would have broken his nose for certain- but neither he nor I had the opportunity to find out. The quay on which we stood began to shake; the waters of the harbor suddenly kicked up a wave of foam and foulness, as chunks of the building fell into the sea.

And out of the remainder of the warehouse there rose the biggest neck I have ever seen. The Mermaid Queen gave a long, lowing moan as she twisted her head about to stare down at us. "Oh," said Alfred, "now ye've done it..."

I looked down. Prufrock had been pale before, but he was white with shock now. How much of it was the blood loss I didn't know, but-

I'd forgotten to stanch his wounds. If I didn't get him to a doctor, fast, all of this would be a moot point. "Prufrock," I said urgently, "listen to me." He looked up with terrified eyes. "You know what they plan to do. If we can get you to a doctor, you'll only have to worry about the British justice system. Hanging's a clean death compared to this. Talk, fast, and I can get you out of here!"

His gaze shifted to the Queen, who lowed again. "N- no," Prufrock croaked. "I won't... you can't..."

"Come on, Prufrock! It doesn't have to be like this! Just tell me how to find the others before this goes any farther!"

Around us, the Sirens were moving in closer, welling in even past Cranston. The trembling Prufrock shook his head.

"I can't protect you if you don't help me!"

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. When he looked up at me... I had seen that look before. Corporal Tompkins got that look when the doctor in Fort Munn told him not even amputation could stop the gangrene. It wasn't a farewell to his leg, but a farewell to everything. Corporal Tompkins had made up his mind to die, and so had Prufrock. There was nothing left of Prufrock that a man could talk to; his heart might still be beating, but he was already gone.

I closed my eyes. "So be it," I said. "Into God's hands I commend your spirit, Prufrock..."

Prince whimpered softly as I turned around. "Up, boy," I told him. The Sirens parted in front of us, and we walked steadily away.

There isn't much to report on after that. The walking Mermaids and the Sirens had been joined by a great many strapping young men who seemed more than happy to rip the remains of the Prufrock warehouse apart and let the Queen out. I went down to the harbour-master to try and report the incident, but after I'd convinced him I wasn't confessing to anything, he just said something about blowing up a nice normal shipping company if I wanted him to make a fuss. By the time Prince and I got back, the remains of the warehouse had been smashed to bits. There wasn't enough left to make a proper box of matchsticks.

What we did have left had been recovered from the office and loaded onto the dirigible. The filing cabinets hadn't yielded any locations of other Prufrock offices, nor had they contained any leads on the rest of the Prufrock family, but they had been full of other papers. Maps, mostly. Maps of places that ten days ago I would have sworn didn't exist. Star charts of the sky over London, with the second star to the right of every possible place of significance marked out in red. A map of a country called Ev, with a note in the margin saying that on the other side of the Deadly Desert there lay an unmappable place called Oz-

That reminds me. We met the Mermaid who had come to the dirigible again. She was talking with Lord Wimsey and the others when I got back from the harbour-master. The gratitude of royalty's nothing to be turned down, so I imagine they were making arrangements for communicating with her people, or something- I don't know, and right now I don't care to guess. I only remember that she said her people would find another breeding-place, and that as much as they were grateful to us they were not going to tell us where the ones they used lay. She said something about the South Seas, and pirates, and when I asked her she did say that one Captain Hook had been exiled some time ago, but I don't remember the details. Then she mentioned something about Prufrock's people and the coast of Maine- I imagine we'll be checking that out at some point. With any luck it'll all come clear after a good night's sleep. What I remember most, though, was Dorothy pushing her way forward.

"'Scuse me, Miss," she said, "but I just have to ask, I've just got to- how did you ever know me?"

The Mermaid considered her question for a moment. "There was a man," she said at last, "who spoke about you. An old man, I think."

The girl was fairly vibrating with excitement at this. "Oh, what was his name?" she exclaimed hopefully.

"Oscar," said the Mermaid. "I believe his name was Oscar."

"Thank you, miss," said Dorothy. "That's just what I wanted to know."

The Mermaid has returned to her people. Every Siren, Mermaid, and other form of fish-person in Glasgow Harbour waved us good-bye as the dirigible left. We've got sixteen hours to finish our group report before we get back to London. At Lord Wimsey's suggestion, we're going to keep the majority of the papers ourselves, rather than turn them over to J.; he did, after all, refuse us access to information not directly related to the Sirens, and aside from one or two of the naval charts I don't think anything in those files directly related to the Sirens either. Under ordinary circumstances, I'd object to this kind of thing. Then again, under ordinary circumstances, Dorothy would still be in the asylum.

You see, I don't like the smell of this situation at all. No government that I can think of has ever offered to repatriate someone unless they were either a criminal in need of deportation, or a foreign national from a country with whom they had diplomatic relations. Dorothy's no criminal, and the government of Britain has no relation whatsoever with Oz or the other fairy lands. What it does have is a very long history of expansion and colonization, particularly into territories with valuable resources. Magic's pretty valuable, if you ask me. So's the fact that no one in the Oz territories gets any older. Can you imagine what'd happen if some of the peerage alive today found out about a place like that? They'd be pushing for a full-scale invasion and annexation before the day was out. And they'd get it, too; I can't imagine a country with no policemen can have much of an army. For all that the British Empire brings civilization along with it, I really don't think that anything good can possibly come of Britain having any kind of consistent contact with Oz.

Speaking of which, it's nearly ten o'clock. I had better go wake up Dorothy.


	13. Greenwich Mean

Day Ten - 10:30 PM  
Somewhere Over Scotland

Well.

Dorothy was asleep on one of the couches in the sitting-room when I found her. (Can't blame her. I wish I were, myself.) The others were there, too, mostly reading over the maps and papers we'd found. I shook Dorothy's shoulder gently. "Dorothy," I said, "it's time."

"Hmmmn?"

"It's ten o'clock, Dorothy. It's four o'clock in Kansas."

That got her awake straight away. She sat up, blinking. "Do you really think this'll work?" she asked.

"Only way to know is to find out."

She nodded soberly. Taking a deep breath, she carefully held up her right hand- index finger extended, other fingers curled- and looked to the ceiling.

Nothing happened, at least so far as I could see; but Toto, who had been dozing at his mistress' side, suddenly lifted his head and started barking furiously.

Miss Poppins set her reading aside, looking with some surprise to the little terrier. "Dorothy," she said urgently, "he says to look in your bag."

The girl blinked. "My what?"

"The bag of jewels Glinda gave you, to trade with in the outside world."

Sure enough, there was a little sack tucked behind that great gold belt of hers. Dorothy undid the knots holding the sack shut and shook the contents out into her lap. I'm no judge of gemstones, but I'm pretty sure I saw rubies and sapphires bigger than the end of my thumb in there. More than that I couldn't have said, and for good reason; several of the gems were emeralds, and the emeralds were glowing.

"I say, is that what's supposed to happen?" asked Lord Wimsey.

Dorothy shook her head. "No," she said, "not really; Ozma's s'posed to get me, but..." The light faded from the stones. Not from her eyes, though. They were shining with the kind of joy children get when they're given their first pup.

"Oh dear. I'm so sorry, Miss Gale."

She shook her head, scooping the gems back into the bag. "It's all right, Mr. Wimsey. There's someone watching me, that's the important part. Why, it's the most I've heard of anything from Oz since I came to England." She looked up at me and smiled, the sweetest smile I think I've ever seen in my life. "Thank you, Mr. Preston," she said very softly.

What happens next, I don't know. I don't even know if we're going to tell J. about the emeralds. We'll see, though. That's a matter for tomorrow... and right now, no matter how many signs and wonders I've seen, I have got to get some sleep.


	14. The Painting

Day Eleven - Tuesday, August 18, 1936 London, England League Headquarters 

The rest of our trip back to London was as uneventful as they come. Aside from a little bit of midair rocking I don't think anything happened on the dirigible that couldn't just as easily have happened on a train, or the better classes of passenger ships. I still don't much like flying, of course, but the fact that we've so far crossed Canada, part of the United States, the Atlantic Ocean, and a good stretch of the United Kingdom is reassuring. For me, anyway. Prince has decided that his den is under the couch in the sitting room. I've warned Danner not to sit there without looking- he's more compact than you'd think. I'd rather he not accidentally fire a couch spring into my dog, thanks.

Miss Poppins had most of her official report composed long before we came within sight of London; it seemed like a good idea to follow her example. That's the advantage of keeping a running log on a case like this- you don't have far to go when the time comes to report to other people. As we'd decided, I left out mention of the paperwork we found at the Prufrock offices. If it were a straight criminal case I'd have real trouble with that idea. Reporting the maps to fairy countries where no one ever dies or gets old to a Crown official- why, you might just as well mention in a saloon that you buried a man with a map showing the way to the biggest gold strike in the Yukon under his head and expect the grave not to be dug up. There was plenty to speak of in the report as it stands. If J. manages to prove that it's in the best interests of Oz to have real contact with the British Empire I'll be the first to admit that I was wrong, but for now the burden of proof is on him.

Before I forget, though- there was a funny thing about those papers. I was reading through them as we crossed into England, and ran across something that made no sense at all. Here were all these charts of sea routes, fairy lands, and London skies, just the kind of thing any invading general could ever want, and in among them was... a set of plans for a wardrobe. Yes, a wardrobe! There wasn't any other thing it could possibly be. The plans called for a looking-glass set in the door and two rods for hanging coats on; they were neat enough for any carpenter with a halfway decent eye to follow. I'd say they must've gotten there by mistake, but how do you make a mistake like that? It makes no sense at all.

At any rate, most of us composed official reports to J. and attached them to Miss Poppins' report. When we returned to the meeting-room in the League's headquarters, he was waiting for us. Seemed pleased enough with the summary Miss Poppins had made on the first page, that's always a good sign... He didn't say much, really. Comments were going to have to wait until he'd had a chance to read the whole thing over, he said. I suppose that's sensible. It gave us a little time to breathe, anyway.

While he was looking over the summary, though, Dorothy- who didn't have a finished report of her own, mostly because she and Lord Wimsey had worked on theirs together- got up and wandered away from the table that ran down the center of the room. There were pictures hanging on the walls- group pictures, mostly- I had seen them before but hadn't bothered to look closely. She moved from picture to picture, looking at them with this odd intensity, as if she expected to spot something in particular. All at once she let out a cry- "Oh! Oh, it is him! It's the Wizard!"

That's a fast way to get attention, all right. I think half of us were up and on our feet as soon as the word died out of the air. Miss Poppins excused herself from Jay and came to Dorothy's side. "What do you mean, dear?" she asked.

Dorothy pointed excitedly to the painting in front of her. "Look, Miss Poppins, it's him! Right there, with the others in the picture! Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs. That's the Wizard's name, he told me so!"

The others had looks on their faces ranging from skeptical disbelief to a suppressed urge to laugh. Danner's lips were moving as he turned over the names; under his breath I heard him murmur, "Oz Pinhead?"

Dorothy caught that, but it didn't upset her in the slightest. "That's 'zackly right, Mr. Danner! He told me his father gave him all those names, only he didn't like being called Pinhead, so he called himself Oz. Oh, Miss Poppins, do you think he still remembers me?"

"Oh, I'm sure he does, Dorothy," said Miss Poppins thoughtfully. "But he's awfully young in this painting, wouldn't you say? He was an old man by the time you met him."

Dorothy frowned a little at that. "I s'pose," she said. I guess it hadn't occurred to her.

"Nevertheless," continued Miss Poppins, "I shall see if that is the case. Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to stand back, please?" We looked at each other and backed up half a step. "Thank you," she said- and jumped into the picture.

No, I am not joking. Without so much as batting an eye Miss Poppins simply leaped into the air, vanished from in front of us, and appeared in the painting. It was the most eye-wrenching thing I think I've ever seen, and I haven't got the words to describe it. I had to look away from the painting proper for a bit while the others exclaimed over what'd just happened. As I did that my eye fell on a small brass plaque set into the frame. It read:

LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN   
1875

... all right, it read more than that- there were names- but I couldn't remember a single one of them if my life depended on it. 1875? Why, the Northwest Mounted Police were only founded in 1873! How old was the League, anyway? How-

I probably could have asked then, or gone and looked at the other paintings, but as I was making up my mind to do so Miss Poppins hopped out of the painting as serene as you please. "I'm sorry, Dorothy," she said, "but this was done when he was a very young man. This version of the Wizard doesn't know you yet, and can't say where the Wizard you know might be."

"Oh," said Dorothy, a bit crestfallen. Then she brightened up. "Well, that's all right. We'll find him anyway, I know we will."

"That's right," said Miss Poppins. She glanced over at J. as she said this, and the man nodded very slowly. "That's right."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	15. Laying Foundations

Day Twelve - Wednesday, August 19  
London

We stayed at League headquarters last night, and in the morning J. summoned us around the table again. "I've read your reports," he said, "and your performance, while not entirely what we'd planned, is satisfactory. I see no reason for you not to continue your investigations of the Prufrock shipping company. The resources of the League are at your disposal for this purpose. All we ask is that you submit your reports on a regular and timely basis, and that you inform us before taking any extraordinary measures." He gave a smile at his choice of words. It didn't touch his eyes.

"Are we confined to London?" asked Tom.

J. shook his head. "You're not even confined to England," he said. "If your investigation takes you to the South Seas, you're free to go- but we need to know about it before you do. Whatever measures seem most appropriate to you are fair game."

Cranston leaned forward. "Then we are free to get other lodgings?" he inquired. J. nodded.

"My people can assist you in finding a place to let, if you like," chimed in Lord Wimsey.

"That's all right. I'll manage."

"Miss Gale," said J., "you'll be staying in the apartment provided for you. I hope it's satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes," said the girl. "I quite like it. It's much nicer than the asylum."

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay there, unless one of your companions here accompanies you out and about." J. steepled his fingers, looking up to us meaningfully. "London is no place for a little girl to go about alone. Dog or no."

"Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about," said Lord Wimsey. "We'll look after you- won't we, chaps?" At the general assent that went up, Lord Wimsey smiled. "There, you see?"

"Very well, then," said J., "unless there's anything else any of you wanted to mention..."

There wasn't, of course, so we were dismissed.

* * *

I'm going to be staying at the headquarters. I've got money, but there's no sense spending it on lodgings when there's a barracks available. There's going to be expenses enough in this investigation as it stands. I don't think I'm going to be doing much of the ordinary detective work here. This mess is tangled up in areas I've never had to deal with. I could learn quickly enough, I'm sure, but as it stands there are those among us who already know what to do. You couldn't ask for a more English sleuth than Lord Wimsey- when it comes to noticing what's right and what's wrong with a situation by local standards, he's the best one of us, I'm sure. Hugo Danner shows every sign of knowing the shipping trade from the inside; I imagine he must've worked at it before the Great War. And as for the underhanded nature of the Prufrock organization- well, let's just say that I expect Cranston knows that sort of thing the way I know tracking and survival, and leave it at that. I'm not going to jump their claim. I know when to cede the floor to someone else. No, I plan to go about this another way.

You see, every one of those maps and charts (except the looking-glass wardrobe- and I have my suspicions about that) came out of a children's story. A fortnight ago I would have written it off as sheer nonsense. I haven't got that luxury any more, not after the things I've seen. I have never in my life seen anything good of rushing into a case without learning the background of the situation first. The Prufrock people believe in the reality of fairy stories. So does J. Dorothy's been to the lands of one of them. Miss Poppins- well- I don't know what to think of her but if she's not an escapee from someone's tales of the strange I'll eat my hat. There might yet be a deception operating, but I'll never know unless I learn. As soon as I've finished this, I'm getting into my civilian clothes and looking for the best bookstores in London. Not just for children's stories, either. The kind of deception that the Prufrocks seem to be practicing calls for a certain measure of suspicion. Crowds have been deceived before. Whole governments have been deceived before- my mother told me the story of Princess Caraboo when I was a boy, and how she was received as royalty from Formosa before being unmasked as a common servant girl of England. I have no illusions about what I know and what I don't. I'd like to maintain that state. As long as I'm buying books, I'm looking up histories of frauds, forgeries, and hoaxes. I seem to recall a book by one Charles Mackay on the topic. That'll be a good place to start. There'll be others, I'm sure.

And one last thing... I have no intention of being caught off my guard again while I'm here. It's one thing to rely on Prince in the North Country, where the biggest danger is a second man with a gun. Prince is faster than most human eyes can follow when he makes up his mind to jump, but the Siren army had him pinned. I don't want to have a repeat of that situation. It seems to me that learning unarmed combat beyond the fisticuffs my father taught me would be a wise idea. As I recall, Sherlock Holmes was said to be trained in a fighting art called 'baritsu'. I don't remember whether he learned it in London or some other part of the world, but it can't hurt to look up a teacher as long as I'm here.


	16. Ffolliott's

Day 13 - August 20, 1936  
Early Evening

I'm no fan of big cities, but I have to say that they do seem to be fertile ground for bookshops. When I mentioned the line of inquiry I planned to pursue to Lord Peter, he immediately gave me the names of several booksellers he felt could be relied upon. "Unfortunately," he noted, "they do tend more towards my end of the bibliophile's hobby, that can't be helped- but since that one volume, the Mackay, is coming up on the century mark within five years... well, Ffolliott's at least might be able to help you with that, eh?"

Ffolliott's turned out to be a shop dealing mostly in ancient, rare books. And I do mean ancient- most of the stock was in Latin or Greek, neither of which were exactly a big part of my schooling. I would probably still be wandering around in there like a lost calf if Mr. Ffolliott himself hadn't come out to ask if I were the owner of the enormous dog out front. When I told him yes, he must've caught my accent- asked what an American was doing this far from his native waters.

I felt pretty sure he thought I'd come into the store by mistake, so I said, "I'm not an American, sir. I'm here from Canada- I was sent by an acquaintance of mine, Lord Peter Wimsey..."

Well, that changed the look on his face pretty quickly! Apparently Lord Peter does a lot of business with the man. Once I'd told him what I was looking for, he led me to exactly the right spot- he did, in fact, have a copy of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds in stock. It was in amazingly good shape for a book published in 1841, too, but then again the man deals in books easily five times older or more. I haven't got the hang of the currency just yet, but I doubt his Lordship would send me to someone who charged really excessive prices. He offered to show me a few other things as well, but I told him I wanted the book for research purposes, not a collection. "Although," I added, "if you could help me with something else-"

"Of course, sir. Anything for a friend of Lord Wimsey's."

"Ah- yes... I was wondering if you could help me find a bookshop that sells mostly children's books. Preferably one that didn't mind a lot of stuff from American authors."

"Hmmm... well, that's a bit outside my field, but..." Ffolliott scribbled a few names and addresses down on a piece of paper. "Try here, first. I think you'll find them extremely helpful."

I thanked him and came back to headquarters, more to drop off Prince than anything else. He was starting to gather a pretty big crowd on the street- mostly people who thought a wolf had gotten loose from the zoo. I've got to buy him a more distinctive collar if I'm going to take him anywhere. Much as I hate putting the things on him without need, the last thing I want is for some London bobby to assume the worst and get hurt trying to take him into custody. 

That reminds me- after I check the shops on Ffolliott's list, I've got one more thing to attend to. There's a man who gives baritsu lessons that I intend to see tonight.


	17. Bartitsu

Day Thirteen - Late Evening

The shops Mr. Ffolliott recommended were extremely helpful, which is more than I can say for the Bartitsu school. (I've been spelling it wrong. It's been a while since I last saw the word.) First things first, though- the books. I've got several days' worth of reading material here- Peter Pan and two volumes of Lewis Carroll from one shop, something called The Water-Babies from another (it seems to be about mermaids), and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz from a third. That last shop was as good as gold, I must say! The owner, an older woman named Mrs. Wetherall, offered to look up the rest of the Oz books for me. Apparently there's fourteen of the things. There was an awkward moment when she asked me who I was buying them for... they're not exactly the sort of thing you can call research material, now, are they? Children's books, I mean? I said something about looking after a young orphan girl who happened to be named Dorothy herself. That seemed to be enough, but it left a bad taste in my mouth not to be entirely straight with her. I promised to check back in a few days and headed out to the Bartitsu school straightaway.

Now there was a disappointment. Apparently it was the last school of its kind left in London. Seems the art's been dying out for a long time. That might explain why the teacher I saw insisted on being paid first, even though all I got was an hour's lecture and a demonstration that taught me nothing. It's essentially a combination of wrestling, boxing, and the use of feet and sticks. Really, it looked like a fancy name for the kind of dirty-fighting tricks I had to deal with back home. Not what I'd expected at all. So much for Conan Doyle, eh?

The instructor must've seen the look on my face, because he broke off what he was saying and left two of his students to continue the demonstration. "Something wrong, Mr.....?"

I didn't bother giving him my name. "I suppose you could say that. Apparently I had the wrong expectations when I came here."

He leaned back on his heels, looking me over with narrowed eyes. "And just what were you expecting?" he inquired.

I shrugged. "Something different. This isn't anything I haven't seen before-"

"Oh, really." He crossed his arms. "Where?"

There was something about his stance that I didn't like. He reminded me of a dog fight I'd seen once, the two animals circling each other, growling and snapping and trying to look as dangerous as possible. It didn't sit well with me. "In the saloons of the Yukon Territory."

"Sir, this is a system of self-defence designed to render anyone acquainted with it practically impregnable against all forms of attack, however dangerous and unexpected-"

"Stop right there. I've heard enough." It was the same stuff he'd been talking about for an hour and I was getting tired of it.

"Oh, you have, have you?" He'd turned an interesting shade of red. "Think you could do as well?"

I could sense where the conversation was headed, and I didn't like it. "No," I said. "No, probably not. I couldn't do most of what you've done... but I don't think this is what I wanted to learn."

That deflated him a little, but he was still pretty angry. "Try the Nips, then," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"305 Oxford Street. Japanese School of jiu-jitsu. Run by Yukio Tani and Masutaro Otani. Maybe that'll be a bit more to your liking. Come back when you want to learn how real men fight, though," he said with a jerk of his head.

I left him to his lessons and went back to the street. Yes, he'd been a disappointment, but at least I got something out of him. I'm going to Oxford Street tomorrow night. I haven't got anything to lose, and Messrs. Tani and Otani might be more helpful.


	18. First Lesson

  
Day Fourteen - Friday, August 21  
League Headquarters  
Evening

I have just been repeatedly thrown into the wall by a Japanese man half my size.

I don't want to talk about it.


	19. Second Lesson

Day Fifteen - Saturday, August 22  
League Headquarters

Mr. Otani seemed surprised to see me last night. "I did not think you would come back, Sergeant," he said when I came in. "Many of my prospective students do not."

"I've had worse."

He was too polite to laugh. I'd knocked myself half senseless the night before, and he knew it. "So you are still interested? You still wish to study jiu-jutsu?"

"Yes, sir; I'm afraid you're stuck with me." I didn't mention I'd spent two hours beforehand in the company of the hottest water bottle I could manage. My right shoulder felt like it'd be sore for a week.

"Then we shall begin," he said softly, and the lesson got under way.

I won't deny that I almost didn't come back. That first demonstration of his was pretty brutal. Masaturo listened to my explanation, that I was a policeman who'd come to rely on my partner to get me out of close quarters, without saying anything. When he asked why I'd come to him in particular, I told him about the Bartitsu school. His expression didn't change much, but his lips got very thin. "So, they sent you to me."

"Yes."

"The Nip." There was a definite edge to his voice as he said it.

I winced a little. "Afraid so."

"What do you expect from me that you could not get from them?" he asked. His tone of voice didn't change much, but there was a certain interest behind the words. I knew that speaking carefully wouldn't help me any. He wanted to hear the unvarnished truth.

So I gave it to him. "I expect you to know what you're doing."

"That's all?" he asked. One of his eyebrows went up.

"Well- yes... should there be something else?"

"Mr. Eggleston knows what he is doing..."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't believe he does. If he did, he wouldn't have to talk about it so much."

There was an odd smile on his face as he stood up. "Sergeant," he said as he made his way to the center of the wooden practice floor, "please, come at me. As fast or as hard as you like."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "Hit me," he said simply.

Back in Forty Mile, there was a Russian whose luck in the gold fields had gone sour. He made a nice amount of gold anyway- by betting that he could knock the feet out from under any man in town in the space of a minute. He would have lost every penny of it if he'd ever met Masaturo Otani. I was in that school less than half an hour, and I got all the demonstration I could've asked for- and then some. Wasn't really thinking of it that way at the time, though. Mostly I was getting pretty tired of having my best punches end up with me on the floor and an elbow in my back. The harder I tried, the easier he had it throwing me into the wall, and that didn't sit well at all with me. I think he must've seen it in my face when I left, because all he said was, "Come back if you are still interested."

Like I said, I almost didn't. That kind of treatment stings, on a much deeper level than wrenched joints. I've always been pretty good in fights before, and frankly, it felt like being shown up as a fraud. It wasn't until I went to fill the hot water bottle that I realized it wasn't anything of the kind. There hadn't been anyone else there to see it- and even if there had, it wasn't as if I'd been doing anything wrong. My fighting form just wasn't enough, compared to a fighter like him. Just like an ordinary gun wasn't enough to take down a Siren. It wasn't a comforting thought, but it was a true one, and since we might wind up facing anything- well.

That was when I made up my mind to go back. I've got my hands full just trying to keep up with the rest of the League and I need whatever honorable advantage I can get. I expect the jiu-jutsu will turn out to be useful eventually.


	20. Becalmed

Day Twenty-Two - Saturday, August 29  
League Headquarters

This past week has been spent in libraries, eating-houses, and other odd places around London. I've spent most of my daylight hours reading more children's books than any man my age has a right to, unless he does it aloud at a child's bedside, and I've spent all of my evenings in Oxford Street. I've filled up several composition books with notes to a degree that would astonish my mother, were she still alive. I have a separate notebook for theories and guesses about what Prufrock may be after, should any particular book turn out to be factual. I've even gone so far as to put in orders at the booksellers' for copies of books about prior League members- 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Invisible Man, and so on- in case they might turn out to be useful. My quarters look like they belong to a university student.

I can't **stand** this.

There, I've said it! My mother was the schoolteacher in my family- not my father, and certainly not me. Oh, I might've wanted to study the law as a boy, but that didn't last long. Not once my father said I'd be big enough to join the Mounties at eighteen, anyway. I don't mind learning new things, and I don't mind studying when I have to, but this is not my idea of a productive way to spend my time. I didn't earn my stripes by analyzing forms and paperwork- I earned them by bringing in the man who killed my father. At least I feel as if the jujitsu lessons are accomplishing something. I only started a week ago, but at least it's doing something. Investigating in books, hunting for something I don't understand and probably wouldn't recognize if I saw- that's an archaeologist's job, or a bookkeeper's, or a churchman's. Not mine.

Unfortunately, I can't do my job at the moment. We don't know what we're looking for- no one does. Danner hasn't had a lot of luck hunting down information on the docks, that's no surprise. Lord Peter's investment inquiries go nowhere whatsoever, so he's trying to get the Prufrock organization to hire someone who'll be loyal to him as a secretary. I have no idea if Cranston's uncovered anything. It leaves us exactly where we were before, with the knowledge that there's a plot, but no clear picture of what it is or where. So all any of us can do is keep digging and hope we're digging in the right place.

It's still profoundly unsatisfying. A man can only take so much of this. I may as well take a day or two of leave from my 'studies'. Prince needs some proper exercise, anyway. I think I'll take him out to one of the parks and see how long we can go without someone mistaking him for an escaped wolf. There's supposed to be some decent museums here in London, too. Those are probably worth a look. They don't have anything like that in Dawson City, I know that much. As long as I'm done in time for lessons in Oxford Street, there shouldn't be a problem. The books aren't going anywhere...


	21. Discovered

Day Twenty-Three - Sunday, August 30  
League HQ  
Afternoon  
  
Being recognized by people you don't know and have never met is an extremely odd experience. Prince and I were headed for one of the city parks this morning, can't recall which one, when I heard one of the local policemen's whistles. Naturally, I stopped to see what was going on. Imagine my surprise when I realized he was pointing at me! 

It took me a moment to realise he wasn't pointing at me at all, but Prince. I hadn't bothered to leash him, since we weren't going through anywhere especially crowded so far as I could tell. I suppose I should've regardless, but there wasn't anything I could do about it just then. Instead, I told Prince to sit and waited for the officer.

Turned out it wasn't a matter of leashes at all. "Here, mister," said the red-headed policeman (I won't even try to reproduce his accent here), "I hope you've got a bloody good story for why that thing's out of the zoo."

The zoo? I glanced down at Prince and tried not to laugh. That made twice now he'd been mistaken for a wolf. "I suppose I do, Constable. He's not a zoo animal at all. He's a Canadian husky."

"A what?"

"A sled dog." I started rummaging through my pockets (I'm really not used to civilian clothes) in search of Prince's import papers. "Here- see for yourself."

The constable gave me a skeptical look as I passed the documentation over to him. I'll admit, Prince's been shot at once or twice by people who saw him at a distance and assumed the worst, but really. We were on the street in downtown London and he was on his best behavior. Somehow, I doubted any wolf could keep itself calm in a situation like that.

Then again... this was London. It suddenly occurred to me that the constable had probably never seen a real wolf in his life. Or if he had, it'd been at the zoo- behind bars, and probably only for a few minutes. Certainly there's no way there'd be Eskimo sled dogs in London, or anywhere else that got that warm. I couldn't really expect him to recognize Prince as anything but a wolf, when it came right down to it. It wasn't his fault. He was a city dweller. Civilization is a wonderful thing, but it does tend to separate people from the world around them.

I looked over to the constable then, who was glancing back and forth between Prince and the import papers. "Well," he said grudgingly, "these look like they're... in..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes got very wide.

"Something wrong?" I inquired.

"Bloody hell," breathed the man, his eyes suddenly locked onto the papers. "Preston. You're Frank Preston."

"Bill, actually- only my family calls me Frank-"

"Blimey!" He shoved the papers back at me, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. "And here's me thinkin' you'd broke into the London Zoo! Beggin' your pardon, Sergeant, I should've known you straight off-"

"You should've?" I swear, he looked like he'd just found a gold nugget the size of his head.

"'s right, I should've! Damn, Sarge, I don't think there's a copper in London wouldn't know your name the instant he heard it. Like as no there's near as many'd know you on sight-"

"Wait. Wait, wait wait." I put both my hands up quickly. What he was saying made no sense at all. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He stared at me then, and pushed his helmet back on his head. "Sergeant," he said a little more clearly, "don't you know you're famous?"

"**What?**"

He nodded then, watching me a little nervously. "It's the God's-honest truth, sir. There's not a soul in the Metropolitan Police doesn't know the reputation of the RCMP. Got a country so bloody big you could fit near fourteen Frances in it and you lot rare as hen's teeth, and you still keep the King's peace there? 'Course we're watchin'. We get the papers same as anyone."

"But the Yukon's at the back of absolutely nowhere!"

He made a rude noise and waved one hand like he was flicking away a fly. "It's got gold in, right?"

"Well, it did, but-"

"Right. Nineteen-ought-three. Half a million men went looking for gold. And they found it, and they wrote home sayin' they'd struck rich. Only they're not wanting to worry their wives with thinking they might get robbed or stabbed or suchlike, so they say 'we've got this policeman up here name of Preston, there's not a criminal alive can get away once he's on their trail'. Or they take to selling food and drink and clothes and such, and what's in their letters home then? 'I've got a proper business now and it's all down to Sergeant Preston of the Mounted Police making it safe to be a respectable merchant out here'. Even them as didn't stay came back with stories about you and the other Mounties- mostly you, though. Couldn't name another Mountie to save their lives, but they all know you." He grinned.

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. "I don't... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Sergeant- except maybe, if you've got the time..." He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "Would you mind coming back to the station with me? It'd be a hell of an honour to have you and your giant dog visit, sir. I mean, if you wouldn't mind," he added quickly.

So that's how I came to spend most of my Sunday with the policemen of London. I can't even say how many times I had my picture taken today, but I think I've still got purple spots in front of my eyes from the flashes. It's one thing to be well-known out in the Yukon, where there's hardly anyone to begin with- but who knew there was anyone here in London who'd ever heard of me? Let alone people who'd actually been following my career? It's ... well, it's downright unnerving. I don't know what else to call it. Constable Deadman said it wasn't only the policemen who'd know me, either; he said probably half of London knew my name, even if they didn't know me on sight. That's an even more disquieting thought. How am I supposed to get anything done if people know who I am? It's one thing to be known in your home jurisdiction, because there's nothing like a good solid reputation to scare the less hardened criminals into behaving themselves. (The others are usually the sort who think they're invincible. They're wrong, of course.) It's something else entirely to be known in a city of millions of people, thousands and thousands of miles away from anywhere you've ever known, when you've got what's essentially a secret mission to look for something impossible being done by people with every reason in the world to keep themselves and their actions secret.

I don't think I like the idea of fame very much right now.


	22. A Visit To The Zoo

Day Twenty-Four- Monday, August 31  
League HQ  
  
The last thing I wanted today was another encounter with the Metropolitan Police. I don't mean any offense by that. They're good men, and they take their jobs seriously. It's just that I had a feeling the next thing they'd ask would be for me to come around the station house again. In uniform. On horseback. 

No, today I wanted nothing to do with policing. It's not often that I get that feeling, but I've learned to listen. My work's the better for it afterwards. I can't stand idleness, though, so I thought for a while; that's how I wound up seeking out the apartment where J. said Dorothy's lodgings were. If she was anything like me, and I suspected she was, at least in this, she was probably getting pretty tired of being cooped up in four walls by now. Constable Deadman's comments the day before had left me wondering about what the local zoo was like, since I'd never been to a proper zoo in my life. I figured if nothing else, a trip like that would be educational for Dorothy. (That reminds me. I ought to check and see what kind of arrangements J's made for Dorothy's schooling. They start the school year here pretty soon, as I recall.)

At any rate, I took Prince and went around to the place where they've got Dorothy staying. It isn't exactly in what I'd call the best part of town, but it's a safe enough sort of area and there's nothing particularly outstanding about the building. It's as grey and dingy as the city streets. How anyone can live in a place like that day in and day out is beyond me. Why, Dorothy's floor didn't even have any windows- at least, none that I could see. There might've been some opening onto the back side of the building, but somehow I doubt that. London doesn't look like it was built with much regard for open space. Mind you, the building was just as bad inside- dark, cramped, and smelling of cabbage. I don't think I've ever been so homesick for good honest pitch and wood smoke in my life. How can people do that to themselves?

Since there wasn't any kind of an answer forthcoming, I had to settle for knocking at the door to Dorothy's rooms. I was expecting Miss Poppins to answer, since she's the girl's governess, but no. I had an instant's glimpse of a small room lined with bookshelves before I realized who'd opened the door. "Good morning, Dorothy..."

It's been a long time since anyone but Prince was that happy to see me. She gave one of the brightest smiles I've ever seen; I don't like to think how long she must've been stuck in that place. "Mister Preston!" she exclaimed, leaning over to scratch Prince behind the ears. "Hello!"

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything," I said, taking my hat off, "but it's a fine morning outside and it seemed a shame to stay cooped up in here." Prince closed his eyes happily, tail wagging at the attention.

"Oh, no, not at all. I was just reading." She held up a book- a copy of The Water-Babies. "Seems a little bit silly now, really."

"You've been reading that too, eh?" I shook my head. "I wasn't all that fond of it myself." 'Not fond of it' wasn't entirely accurate. I didn't care for it much at all, and was glad to be done with it when I finished. The things we do in the name of research.

Of course, I wasn't there to talk books. Dorothy set her copy aside and asked, a bit wistfully, "What's it like outside today?"

"Oh, sunny and bright. Perfect day for going to the zoo, if you ask me. Wouldn't you agree, fella?" Prince let out a small bark. "You see? He agrees."

She started to smile again then. "I'll have to ask Mary," she said, a bit tentatively.

I nodded. "That's a fine idea. I think she'll probably agree, anyway. Fresh air does a body good."

Dorothy hurried off then; Prince and I stayed where we were. I didn't think she'd take long about it, and I was right. Barely a minute or two later she came back, all but skipping, carrying a good-sized packet and a sun hat. "It's all right!" she exclaimed. "Mary even gave us sandwiches, look!"

"Miss Poppins is a very sensible woman. Good for her." Prince sniffed towards the sandwiches curiously. "It's all right, boy, I've got you taken care of myself."

As she called, "Toto! Toto, we're going outside!", I quickly snapped Prince's leash onto his new collar. He wasn't very happy about it- the collar was wider and stiffer than anything I made him wear as my lead dog- but the Zoo had wolves, and I didn't want anyone to make Constable Deadman's mistake. We were walking the whole way, after all.

The trip took a little longer than I thought, mostly because of Dorothy. I'd almost forgotten she was a frontier child, and hadn't had the chance to get out and about. She seemed almost as interested in the details of London as she did in the idea of going to the zoo, so every now and again we had to stop and look at this or that landmark. Sometimes it wasn't even landmarks- just some building or vehicle she'd never seen before. The place still made me uncomfortable, but at least someone was enjoying it- even if she did murmur that it wasn't as clean as the Emerald City. As I haven't gotten started on the Oz books yet, the most I could do was comment that London probably had more people, and leave it at that.

When we did reach the Zoo, there wasn't much of a line to get in. Too early in the day, I suppose. The woman at the ticket desk smiled indulgently at Dorothy and handed me a map 'for you and your little girl'. I didn't bother to correct her. It wouldn't have been worth the effort. We stopped at a wire and brick cage stocked with ravens and looked over the map of the zoo. "There's a Children's Zoo if you'd- oh, wait, it's still under construction..."

Dorothy peered at the paper. "What's a 'Mappin'?" she asked, pointing to an area not far away from the entrance.

"Why, I don't know," I said. "I don't think I've ever heard that name before in my life. Why don't we go see?"

"All right," she said, and we were off.

The place we were headed for was named the Mappin Terraces. I could see something that looked like an artificial mountain in that general direction, and supposed that was what we were heading for. Between the raven cage and the Terraces, there were quite a few smaller displays- tropical birds, monkeys that screamed at the sight of Prince, and a family of civet cats. Dorothy, of course, was rotating like a child's top, trying to take everything in at once. I couldn't blame her. Most of the animals were creatures I'd only ever heard of in books. There was even a building on one of the side paths that promised a troop of gorillas, and possibly a Borneo orang-utan. I turned to find Dorothy in front of the monkey cages, thinking that we might give the ape house a look next, only to see a surprisingly big crowd forming around a small Tudor building nearby.

According to my map the building was the Clock Tower, 'formerly the Llama House'. This didn't look like the sort of crowd you'd get for llamas, though. From what I remembered of my lessons, they were pretty ordinary creatures from Peru. I overheard someone in the crowd muttering, "... from Africa, you know, somewhere in deepest darkest..."

By this time Dorothy had noticed the people too. "Do you know what they're looking at, Mister Preston?"

"How does it, erm... how does it go?" said someone in the group.

I shook my head. "I've got no idea, Dorothy. Did you want to see?"

"Oh, let's."

"All right." I started towards the Clock Tower. "Excuse me- thank you... pardon me, please..."

The people were three or four deep, maybe more. It really wasn't a very big building, and there were a lot of people interested in whatever the creature was. Fortunately, at the sight of Prince they parted like the waters of the Red Sea. I gestured to Dorothy to go on ahead of me, thanked a few of the other onlookers, and followed her up to the rail that marked the edge of the Clock Tower's yard. The crowd closed in behind us just as Dorothy rose on tiptoe and called out, "Oh, look!"

It had two heads.

I'm quite serious. The beast had two heads. And not next to each other, either. That would have seemed more sensible to me, but- well, sensible simply didn't apply. It looked like some kind of antelope, or deer- no, that's not right. Like two antelopes, cut in half and stuck together end to end. That's right, end to end. No room for the normal termination of the digestive process at all, unless there was something going on that I didn't like to think about.

You'd think after the monstrous fish-women of Glasgow I'd be used to impossible sights, but you'd be wrong. "Good Lord!" I exclaimed, and I think most of the crowd agreed with me.

Dorothy, on the other hand, was absolutely enchanted by the sight. "Oh, isn't it beautiful?" she cried. Beautiful was not the word I would have chosen for it. (Though I did have to admit that it would've made a very fine-looking pair of antelopes, as long as the hindquarters were provided as part of the bargain.) "Did they say it was from Africa, Mister Preston?"

I got enough of my wits back to say, "I think so. There ought to be a sign-"

"Oh yes." She turned away from the fantastic creature long enough to read it over. "It says it's called a 'pushmi-pullyu', and that they found it in Africa, but..." She trailed off, and didn't continue.

PUSHMI-PULLYU (Bicephalocapra africanus (Doolittle)), said the sign. This animal, the only one of its kind known to science, was first described by- I stopped and looked over at Dorothy, who was frowning considerably. "Something wrong?" She fidgeted uncomfortably, like she didn't want to be heard. I bent down to make it a bit easier for her.

"But Africa isn't a fairy country!" she whispered to me, standing on tiptoe.

I glanced over at the beast. One of the heads was placidly eating a pile of hay; the other was watching the crowd warily, as if it were only waiting for the eating head to finish before deciding to bolt. "No," I agreed, "it's not. Maybe it wandered out of a fairy country into Africa, though? No one really knows what's in those jungles, after all."

She looked at the creature again and smiled. "Maybe," she allowed. "Do you think there could be more of them, somewhere?"

I really didn't see how the thing could breed, but then again I didn't see how the thing could exist. "I suppose it's possible," I murmured. "I've never even heard of such a beast before, but if there's one there's got to be another, hasn't there?" She didn't answer. She'd got her feet up on the bottom rung of the railing and was leaning into the enclosure, holding one hand out towards the creature.

A quick look at the sign indicated that it was definitely vegetarian, but so are moose. "I don't think they like people doing that, Dorothy."

Looking up at me, she nodded and pulled back her hand. "All right," she said, stepping down from the rail. "Do you suppose they have any other fairy creatures in this zoo?"

My hand was halfway to the map in my pocket before I realised it wasn't exactly the sort of thing you put in print. "You know, I have no idea. It's awfully big, isn't it? They might very well have something else impossible around here somewhere."

So we wound up roaming the rest of the Zoo for a while, searching for impossible creatures. Didn't find any, although I admit I almost mistook the 'maned wolves' for something out of a storybook. At first glance they look almost impossible. They're perfectly normal beasts, though. They've been known to science for years. It's just that they happen to resemble extremely large red foxes, with legs even a greyhound would envy. They are, however, ordinary. Beyond the pushmi-pullyu, there really wasn't anything else you could rightly call a fairy animal. Dorothy had pretty high hopes for the Mappin Terraces, but it turned out there's no beast by that name. They were named after a benefactor of the Zoo, and all that lived there were Asian sloth bears and Indian langurs. That didn't sit well with her, but there wasn't any time to grouse. It's not far from the Terraces to the Zoo's lions. That got Dorothy's undivided attention. I believe she stood and watched the big male for ten whole minutes without so much as moving.

Now, I haven't read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz yet, but Dorothy's told me about her friends and acquaintances back in Oz. She'd mentioned the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger more than once. There was a wistful sort of look on her face, watching that zoo lion. I knew what she must've been feeling; I've seen that look before. Quietly- I didn't want to disturb her- I put one hand on her shoulder. As she started leaning back against my arm, I told her, "You'll see him again, Dorothy. And all the others, too. We'll find a way."

She looked up at me for a moment. Then she smiled- a hesitant, fragile smile, not at all like her normal expression. For a moment- well, for just a moment she looked rather like Louise. She'd always wanted a daughter...

I shook my head a little and the moment passed. "Come on," I suggested. "Let's go see the wolves."

Now, I know wolves were exterminated in England hundreds of years ago, but you'd think they'd at least remember enough about the creatures to give them a livable enclosure. The wolf cages resembled nothing so much as a series of kennels, with a couple of concrete tunnels towards the back and a half-height wall that was probably a whelping pen of some kind. Wolves are big animals, and even a big dog needs a certain amount of room to stay happy. I didn't like the look of the wolf cages at all, although I had to admit that the animals I saw certainly seemed healthy. Even if they were asleep out in the open.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dorothy glancing back and forth between the cage and Prince. That wasn't a big surprise. Other zoo visitors were being a lot less subtle about it. Prince's dog blood shows pretty strongly, though. Standing in front of the wolf cage, there really wasn't any way he could be mistaken for one of them. His coat is a more silvery colour than theirs. The Zoo's wolves had yellow eyes; his were dark brown, though slanted like a full wolf's. He had a very big patch of pure white over most of his chest and belly, which you don't often see in wolves, and his muzzle was a little shorter than theirs. The differences were as plain as the nose on my face.

That didn't seem to bother one of the wolves, though. A small, dark female came to her feet as I watched, padding over to the bars of the cage to yawn and give Prince a curious look. I almost smiled at his response- ears pricking forward, tail coming up, leaning in to sniff back at her- but there were people watching. Nervous-looking people. With a sigh, I took up the rest of the leash's slack. "Sorry, old boy," I said. "The last thing we want is trouble."

He flicked an ear in my direction. The female was straining to poke her nose out between the bars, sniffing with a good deal of interest. I looked over towards Dorothy, remembering that she'd brought her own dog along. Toto, at least, had the sense to be taking an interest in something close at hand- a pigeon. There didn't seem to be any kind of real tension in the air, so I turned back to Prince.

Apparently, I'd judged the situation too soon. Prince's ears were starting to slant back as a big, charcoal-grey male shouldered the female aside with a growl. "You know," I muttered to Dorothy, "I think the zookeepers would be happier if we went somewhere else now."

The girl looked back and forth between Prince and the wolves a moment. "Prob'ly," she agreed.

I got a good, firm grip on that leash and tugged at it once, to no effect. Prince weighs a hundred and forty pounds, and he did not want to move. The she-wolf had lost interest by now. The male, unfortunately, was another story. His hackles were very visibly rising along the back of his neck, and he was starting to rumble quietly.

He'd be snarling in another minute, I knew. "Prince," I said sharply. "Up. Now."

That was enough to get through to him. Prince came to his feet straightaway. Unfortunately, the wolf didn't approve at all. He bared his teeth immediately, letting out a ferocious growl that woke the other wolves and set the onlookers to backing away as fast as they could. That's when Dorothy stepped forward, facing the wolf. "Now, you STOP that!" she exclaimed sharply.

Just like that, he did. The growl turned into a shocked, rising whine, and the wolf fell back a pace with a look I can only describe as 'poleaxed'. Dorothy went on talking. "You ought to be 'shamed of yourself," she told him. "Prince is a guest here."

As Prince moved back a bit and settled himself against my leg, Dorothy looked down at him. Somewhat more gently, she said, "And you, Prince, ought to've been a little more polite."

He ducked his head, not meeting Dorothy's eyes. I couldn't blame him. I bent over to rub him behind the ears for a moment; he let out a sigh, his tail sagging behind him. "It's all right, fella. You'll be more careful in future, won't you?" He whuffed softly.

It hadn't been the best of days for him, really, and it was starting to get warmer on top of everything else. Besides, we still hadn't had our sandwiches.

"Dorothy," I said, "I think we've had enough for now. Why don't we go get out of everyone's way?"

She nodded, and we left the wolves and the murmuring crowds behind. That was more or less it for the day at the zoo, really. We came home not long after that. I've got just enough time to get washed up and head over to Oxford Street for the evening's lessons.


	23. Richmond Park

Day Twenty-Five  
Tuesday, September 1  
Richmond Park, London

I felt a bit guilty about falling behind in my research today. After all, just now reading these books is the only thing I can do that no one else in the League seems to be able or willing to do. I still didn't like the idea of sitting around the building as if I were some kind of college student, so I packed up several of the books I hadn't gotten to yet and headed across the city to Richmond Park.

I think I'm beginning to understand how people can survive in a place like London. Once you're inside the wall, Richmond Park is big enough that you can almost convince yourself you're not trapped in a city. The Park Keeper I met said it used to be a hunting grounds for Charles I, and that there's still fallow and red deer there. I believe it. Most of the people I saw there today were traveling on bicycles, or by motorcar. Twenty-five hundred acres is a bit much for city dwellers to handle on foot, I suppose. I admit, I wouldn't have minded having Regina along, but I haven't sat a horse since before I left Canada anyway.

It took me a while but I eventually found a spot under some of the older Park trees, out of the way. After what happened yesterday at the Zoo, I thought I'd better start reading about Oz first. Peter Pan could wait. I took out my copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. For some reason, I can't think of why, I opened it not to the first page of the story but to the copyright page. I don't know what I was looking for, but I know what I found: a copyright date of 1900.

That threw me for a minute. 1900. That was... why, I was barely eighteen then. I'd just joined the Northwest Mounted Police that year. If the numbers were to be believed, I was just learning to drive a dog team when Dorothy was off melting witches and talking to lions. I put the book down for a minute and looked at it again- no, it didn't seem to be a mistake on my part. 1900, all right.

I'll admit there was a moment I'm not proud of; I caught myself thinking for just a second that Dorothy had been taken in by an asylum. Under ordinary circumstances, I'd have latched onto that thought pretty hard. I couldn't do that, though. I'd seen too much already. Sirens with impossible numbers of teeth. Mermaids who went from fish-women to nearly human females. Magic belts that turned dogs invisible and Lords into lightbulbs, babies that hatched out of eggs, wolves that cowered at reprimands from young girls... I simply didn't have room in my brain for the possibility that Dorothy's story was anything but true, any more. Why, after encountering the Mermaid Queen, the idea that Oz might be a land where no one aged seemed almost scientific! There were all kinds of fairy stories where a hundred years passed in a single night, I knew that. From what Dorothy had said, it wasn't like that in Oz. People who went to Oz simply didn't get any older, or die. It was a little strange, but next to everything else that'd happened, it made a certain amount of sense. Maybe the magic that kept people from dying there acted like the cold does to Yukon wood-frogs. I couldn't imagine they were any physically different when they get out of the ice in spring; if anything about them had changed, they'd have died in the ice for sure. Perhaps it was like that.

It wasn't exactly the most reassuring idea, but it was the best I could come up with. Nothing that I knew fit with the idea that Dorothy might be anything but a sane, if very unusual, little girl. She might be nearly as old as I, objectively speaking, but when it came right down to it she was still essentially twelve years old. No matter when the book had been published.

I've since finished the book, along with Peter Pan. That's another one where no one gets any older. I have my suspicions about James Hook, and where he might be now, but that's all they are at the moment- suspicions. I'll probably have to read the book again a few times. Both of the books, actually. I'm not exactly suited for a scholar's life, but this is the first piece of real investigation I've been able to do since we left Glasgow, and I'm not going to make a hash of it.


	24. Interludes

Day Twenty-Eight - Friday, September 4  
League HQ

Still no real success in investigating the Prufrocks, though Lord Peter (he insists on being called that and not 'Lord Wimsey') reported today that he's all but got the organization willing to hire a girl operative of his as a secretary. I wish him luck with that. Prufrock Shipping is wrapped up as tightly as the location of a miner's lucky strike, and they've got a lot more to lose by letting other people in on the secret.

Yes, I have been going through the public records that I've been able to find about the company. I realize that we've already got Lord Peter and Cranston on the case, but one more day of sitting around reading without doing SOME kind of police work and I'd have exploded. A man can only tell himself so many times that reading children's books is serious research before he starts to feel like a fraud. It's not as if it were an official investigation, anyway. I don't tread on other Mounties' cases, but we're supposed to be in this investigation together. Another pair of eyes on the available documents couldn't hurt. It doesn't seem to have helped much, but it didn't hurt.

As it stands all that we know for sure about the Prufrocks is that the organization has roots in the Americas- Maine, specifically- and the South Seas. They hire all their own people internally and have nothing to do with union workers. They house their workers themselves. They do imports and exports, and it's devilishly hard to track down exactly who hires them. They invite no external investors and pay a great deal of money to ensure that their operation moves smoothly, with a minimum of interest or interference from the authorities.

Unfortunately, this isn't much more than what we learned after Glasgow. I'll keep looking when I can, but I'm unfortunately in a bit over my head when it comes to the financial and legal records of London. They do things differently in Canada.

* * *

Day Thirty - Sunday, September 6  
League HQ  
  
The halls of records aren't open on the weekends here, but the museums are. Since I'd never been to a proper museum I thought I'd see if Dorothy wanted to go visit the National Galleries today. This time, Miss Poppins came along for the trip. 

Miss Poppins can take people into paintings with her.

I will consider writing more about the visit when my stomach settles. That's even worse to experience than it is to watch.

* * *

Day Thirty-One - Monday, September 7  
League HQ  
  
Just returned from the evening's jiu-jutsu lessons. I took a different route back than I had going there- I've been doing that this whole time, trying to learn what I can of the parts of the city that lie between Oxford Street and here. I haven't told the others in the League about the lessons, so imagine my surprise when I passed Hugo Danner on the way back... He looked about as surprised to see me as I felt to see him, but there was something else about the look of him, too. I got the feeling he didn't especially want anyone to know where he was, or what he was doing. He didn't carry himself like someone doing something dishonorable, though. Just something he didn't want known. 

Far be it from me to go against a man's wishes when my own run the same way. I gave him just enough of a nod to let him know I'd seen him, and kept on going without stopping.


	25. On Dogs

Day Thirty-Two - Tuesday, September 8  
Richmond Park  
  
I spent this morning in a fruitless search through the mustiest public archives I could find, looking for anything to do with the registration of American or other foreign companies to do business in the port of London. The only mention I found anywhere of Prufrock was on a list, in the middle of a bunch of other companies. I may have to look them up tomorrow individually just to make sure they weren't related, but if you're not affiliated with the local courts you're only allowed a certain amount of times in the files. Between the condition of the archives and the amount of crowding, noise and traffic in the streets outside, I'd about all I could take of the city. I headed for the nearest children's bookseller. 

The Lost Princess of Oz was waiting for me, like I'd asked. The bookseller, a man named Denslow, had taken it on himself to set aside a few other books that 'your children' might like. If that kind of thing keeps up much longer I'm going to have to hire someone to do my shopping for me... anyway, I bought the lot of them without complaining and took them with me to the park today. I thought I'd at least look at them on the chance that there might be something that I'd missed, related to the Prufrock papers. I didn't see anything especially fantastic straight off, but there was one book that stood out for some reason. Bambi: A Life in the Woods, by Felix Salten. Takes place in the Black Forest. The main character's a roe deer. Would've mostly ignored it, really, since it's got none of the magic or fairyland material that the Prufrocks were after, but... well. According to Dorothy and the books, the animals of Oz can talk. So can animals from everyday countries who happen to come to Oz. I've seen Miss Poppins communicate with both Prince and Toto as easily as if they were human beings. All my life, I've been sure that Prince- or Duke, or King- would have spoken to me if they could. If only because I haven't got enough sense to smell the things they do, or notice the trails they pick up on! The Oz books aren't supposed to be much more than histories, so naturally they don't touch on what the talking animals are thinking. Salten, on the other hand, wrote his book from the animals' point of view.

The first part of the book wasn't anything much, really. It's all typical children's-book stuff at first. I almost put it down in favor of Lost Princess of Oz, but as I glanced down the page, one of the deer mentioned "Him". That was how they referred to human beings- Him, or He, or His. Every time. Hunters, poachers, farmers- all men were Him, and He was a terrible mystery too powerful to comprehend.

It caught my attention. I'd never really given much thought to what most animals must see of men and women; dogs maybe, but others? Never even thought of it. Wolves stay back from people unless the winter's made hunting too hard for them, or unless they smell blood. If you catch one young enough, you can tame it, at least some of the time. Bears aren't bad creatures, unless some fool's been tormenting them. Why, bear-cubs make fair pets, as long as you treat them kindly and keep them outside where they're happier. Caribou just... are, I guess. Mink, martens, sable- they don't really mean much until they're on a trapper's load of pelts. They're beasts. It hadn't occurred to me to think about them. But where we would be going, the animals could not only think, they could talk- and if the Oz books really were true histories, then they had a lot to say.

I kept reading the Salten. There were two parts that stuck with me. The first came when one of the deer was struck by a hunter's bullet. After an older stag misled the hunter and his dog, the wounded young stag limped off to hide and recover. Now, I've never been in that hunter's position, but I've had to follow a lot of blood trails- animal and human alike. I'm proud to say that when it's been animal, I've caught up and put the poor beast out of its misery every time. Hunters who give up on their quarry only encourage the wolves. I haven't always been able to track them myself, of course; that's what dogs are for. King was my first really fine tracker, but I'd swear Prince was his equal any day of the week. What I miss, he finds, and he makes sure I see it too. I've been in the RCMP long enough to know that I can trust him when I fail.

Maybe it's a little strange to say so, but it's exactly that which made the other part of the book stick in my head. After the young stag recovers, a dog comes into the forest on the trail of a dying fox. There's a stretch of that chapter that burned itself into my brain:

> _"Let me go," said the fox beginning to speak, "let me go." He spoke softly and beseechingly. He was quite weak and despondent.  
"No! No! No!" the dog howled.  
The fox pleaded still more insistently. "We're relations," he pleaded, "we're brothers almost. Let me go home. Let me die with my family at least. We're brothers almost, you and I."  
"No! No! No!" the dog raged.  
Then the fox rose so that he was sitting perfectly erect. He dropped his handsome pointed muzzle on his bleeding breast, raised his eyes and looked the dog straight in the face. In a completely altered voice, restrained and embittered, he growled, "Aren't you ashamed, you traitor!"  
"No! No! No!" yelped the dog.  
But the fox went on, "You turncoat, you renegade." His maimed body was taut with contempt and hatred. "You spy," he hissed, "you blackguard, you track us where He could never find us. You betray us, your own relations, me who am almost your brother. And you stand there and aren't ashamed!"_

The creatures of the forest go on to denounce the dog as a filthy traitor and a spy at the top of their lungs. And the dog answers:

> _"What do you want? What do you know about it? What are you talking about? Everything belongs to Him, just as I do. But I, I love Him. I worship Him, I serve Him. Do you think you can oppose Him, poor creatures like you? He's all-powerful. He's above all of you. Everything we have comes from Him. Everything that lives or grows comes from Him." The dog was quivering with exaltation._

The creatures argue. The dog's rage wins in the end:

> _At last the fox could not fight any more. In a few seconds he was lying on his back, his white belly uppermost. He twitched and stiffened and died.  
The dog shook him a few times, then let him fall on the trampled snow. He stood beside him, his legs planted, calling in a deep, loud voice, "Here! Here! He's here!"  
The others were horrorstruck and fled in all directions.  
"Dreadful," said Bambi softly to the old stag in the hollow.  
"The most dreadful part of all," the old stag answered, "is that the dogs believe what the hound just said. They believe it, they pass their lives in fear, they hate Him and themselves and yet they'd die for His sake."_

I had to put the book down there.

All my life, I've been around dogs. When I was a boy of seven, my father- one of the first of the Northwest Mounted Police- brought me my first pup, Shep. Helped me raise him and train him- even bury him, years later. It was the Mounties who taught me how to drive a dogsled and look after a whole team. Yukon King would've been mine from the days when he was a tiny pup if the breeder bringing him to me hadn't had that accident on the trail. Even though Old Three Toe the she-wolf raised him, he only ever bit me once, and that was only because a lynx had just attacked him. He seemed happy enough to stay with me after that, and saved my life more times than I can count. I always treated him well, and in ninety cases out of a hundred, he was all the partner I needed. I did my best to do right by him and his son, Duke.

And, yes, by his grandson Prince. I owe my life to that dog. I could never knowingly do him wrong. I've always thought he served me willingly, and I've tried to be good to him in return. He's not like his grandfather, though. He's never known any life except with people. Yes, his mother was a she-wolf, but dogs and wolves alike can be incredibly loyal creatures. It's just that- well, when you don't know any other way to be, is it really loyalty? Or is it just habit- or fear?

And even if it is loyalty... The fox and the hound were almost brothers, and the hound still broke the fox's neck. Prince is half a wolf. "You betray us, your own relations, me who am almost your brother." Prince is as much of the forest as he is of men's making. Maybe more. He's fought the creatures of the forest for the sake of men; most of the time he's fought them at my order. He's never seemed the least bit hesitant about it, but ...

I really don't know what to think. I can't even begin to say how much this bothers me.


	26. Uninvited Guests

Day Forty-One- Saturday, September 17, 1936  
110A Picadilly  
England

At last, at long last, things are beginning to happen. Thank Heaven!

Reckoning that it'd been a month since Glasgow, Miss Poppins called a meeting of the League today. Since she wanted to discuss our progress (or lack of it) away from prying eyes and ears, Lord Peter volunteered the use of his own flat here in London. His manservant Bunter greeted us at the door and showed us in. Prince came with me, of course. He looked amazingly out of place in that setting- but then, so did I. Lord Peter's rooms reminded me of some of the finer suites in the Palace Hotel back home, but without the feeling of day-in, day-out use that hotels seem to get. As our host, Lord Peter spoke first. He kept his usual offhanded tone of voice, but there was a kind of tightness around his eyes. He'd passed four or five young women in the direction of the Prufrock organization, he said, and only the very latest one was making any kind of headway whatsoever. Too many background checks for the others to pass. Even if she did get hired, he was of the opinion that it'd take months or more before she reached a position of any use.

Cranston- who is currently using the name Craig Lamont, and not going to any effort to explain why- seemed to be having similar problems. While he assured us he'd brought one of his best investigators over from America, he hadn't gotten anyone into the organization either. Neither had he been able to get any information out of people already inside the company. Just approaching them and trying to talk was running a risk of discovery.

There were a few looks thrown my way at that point, but all I said was that I hadn't made much progress either. I have a feeling that's all they expected of me. They had Lord Wimsey- sorry, Lord Peter, I will get that right one of these days- to do the investigating, after all; why would they need me? J. brought Lord Peter on board for his detection. As far as the paperwork is concerned, I'm just here to make sure we keep going when someone else would lie down and die.

I still don't entirely trust the reason J. gave for hiring me. England's got much too long a history of persistence for me to be the best example they could find. There's got to be more to it than that, and I intend to find out what it is- eventually.

At any rate, we went on from there to Tom. That was a relief, since I didn't relish telling anyone but Miss Poppins and Dorothy how I'd been spending my time. Tom hadn't spent his time investigating, but he hadn't been idle, either. Turns out he has access to air travel of his own- got his own dirigible, and even a small airplane! He went back to America early on and spent most of his time in one of his invention labs. The first thing on his list was synthetic peach extract, so that future encounters with Sirens wouldn't require the toting of fruit. Once he had that, he set to work trying to formulate a waterproof paint that could be used on ships. Said that was still in the works, but that he was making progress. He mentioned that he'd tried to get in touch with some South American allies of his, but hadn't had much luck finding them. If all he managed to accomplish was the peach extract, I think we're still ahead of the game.

Neither Hugo nor Dorothy had anything particularly much to report, Dorothy for obvious reasons. Hugo said he'd tried, but the Prufrock workers- normally just the sort of people he's best at dealing with- were sealed up tighter than an oyster, or else spoke no English whatsoever.

That left Miss Poppins, who smiled as she stood up. "I, of course, have been looking after Miss Gale- as well as compiling the information I've received from each of you to date. Unfortunately, that hasn't been much. I'm sure each of you is doing his best, but-" She gave a bit of a sigh.

"Looks as if the trail's gone cold," supplied Lord Peter. "We've no pressing leads of any kind, not the least little bit."

"I'm afraid that is, in fact, the case." Her lips pursed in a disapproving expression. "The Prufrock company remains a threat. I do not think they have wasted their time this past month, despite losing the Mermaid Queen. Gentlemen, it would appear that we need to change our tactics."

I started to put up my hand, but Cranston spoke first. "Perhaps it's only that the trail's gone cold here," he said, looking to Lord Peter. "I've been thinking over this myself. Might we not have a better chance of getting our information somewhere else?"

"An excellent idea, Mr. Cranston," said Miss Poppins. "Where do you suggest, then?"

Cranston shrugged. "The Mermaid spoke of Maine," he said.

"Maine's a big state," Hugo murmured.

"This is true, but it's considerably smaller than the islands of the South Seas." Cranston shot him a look. "Not to mention that we speak the same language. There's only so much coastline to the state, at any rate."

"I don't recall seeing anything about Maine in those maps we got," began Lord Peter, "but that doesn't mean much. They might've written down something we missed-"

Tom groaned, but Miss Poppins shook her head. "There may not be a need," she said. "Miss Gale has an idea of her own."

We turned and looked at Dorothy. She smiled, lifting her chin a little. "I was thinking," she said, "that ... well, we might go to Oz."

The Americans fell completely silent. Lord Peter smiled merrily, as if he were in on some kind of secret. Dorothy went on. "Well, we aren't having much luck here," she pointed out. "And that man did say he'd try to find a way to get me home. Those maps we found show how to get to Ev, and Ev's right across the Deadly Desert from Oz."

A bit of an argument broke out there. Mostly it was Cranston pointing out, and rightly so, that the threat from the Prufrocks wasn't the sort of thing you could simply walk away from. I don't remember the details, exactly, because I was too busy thinking about the idea- and watching the others argue. By the look of her, Miss Poppins had already known about Dorothy's idea, and so had Lord Peter. That meant there had to be some kind of merit to it. For all that she doesn't say much more than she has to, Miss Poppins has yet to steer us wrong. It occurred to me that the trip might not be irrelevant to the case after all; the Prufrock papers did include maps of Ev, Pingaree, and the other countries lying near to Oz. There was a very real possibility of getting their hands on some fairly powerful artifacts, too, if the objects in the books still existed. And hadn't Dorothy said Glinda had discovered that magic items worked in the civilized countries? An organization out to conquer the Empire couldn't do much better than magic if it really wanted an unstoppable super-weapon.

I brought up that very point then. Lord Peter had been making very similar points, apparently. It didn't take long to bring the discussion around to the question of how we were supposed to get to Oz to begin with, assuming we went at all. According to Dorothy, Glinda's spell to keep outsiders out of Oz didn't seem to apply to air travel- at least, not any more. That gave us a number of possibilities. There was the League dirigible, of course, but using that all but demanded we inform J. of what we were doing and where we were going. There was the possibility of Tom's dirigible, which would've called for either Tom or Cranston as the pilot; that wasn't a problem, but figuring out how much information to give J. was. I was just beginning to wish for Inspector Moore- we might not always have gotten along, but at least I could trust him- when Prince lifted his head. His ears were pricked forward, as if he were straining to hear a sound, and he was focused on the window.

For good reason. There was a small, bright circle of light wobbling uncertainly back and forth just outside. "Lord Peter?" I called.

"Hmm?"

"Who knows we're here?"

The arguments ended right there. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, dropped whatever they were talking about and turned to see what I was pointing at. The light was still there, circling and flickering back and forth. "Someone with a torch, you think?" I asked.

Lord Peter shook his head as the group clustered around the window- at a safe distance, of course. "We're two storeys up," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "The light would be bigger if someone on the ground were using a torch- and probably not half so bright."

Tom leaned forward a little farther, peering at the light. Suddenly he let out an exclamation of surprise. "It's a person!"

Cranston and Danner looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, but Dorothy let out an "oh!" and walked right up to the glass. Lord Peter whistled in surprise and followed her. Miss Poppins just looked a bit more closely, nodding to herself as if she'd suspected something all along. As for me, I looked to Prince. He hadn't bothered to bristle at the strange light, and he wasn't on guard now, just wary. That was as much as I needed to know; I leaned past Dorothy to get a proper look myself.

Tom was right. It was a tiny person, no longer than my thumb- glowing and winged, but definitely human shaped. It didn't look especially male or female, but at that size I'm not sure it mattered. I couldn't tell whether it was paying attention to us or not. It flittered from one side of the window to the other and down to the sash, like-

"I think it's trying to get in," whispered Dorothy. Lord Peter nodded in agreement.

The tiny person paused, peering through the glass straight at us, and I suddenly remembered the books back at headquarters. "I could be wrong, Miss Poppins," I said, "but I think that's one of the fairies from Peter Pan."

"I believe you're right, Sergeant," she said. "In which case, we ought to let it in."

"Excuse me?" Hugo said, his voice incredulous.

"Not far, Mr. Danner. Only far enough to catch it, and be sure that it's harmless."

Lord Peter stepped back, framing the window briefly with his hands as if he were setting up a picture. "We could put something over the window- Bunter!"

His man poked his head out of the kitchen. "Yes, sir?"

"Have we got an aquarium lying about here anywhere?"

"I do not believe so, sir. I will, however, check."

As he turned away I called, "If you can't find one, we could probably use a roasting pan. A big one."

"Very good, sir." Bunter vanished again.

I'll admit, I was a little stunned to see the fairy. Not so much because of its looks, though. That was... well, pretty conventional, really. If you give a child a sheet of paper and a box of crayons and say 'draw a fairy', you'd get something an awful lot like that tiny glowing person. No, what had me boggling was something else: I'd been on the right track. All those books I'd read hadn't been a waste of my time or the League's after all. It really was the trail we were looking for. That was the moment I knew we'd be going to Oz if I had to convince the others myself.

About then, Bunter returned. "Very sorry, sir," he said, "but the aquarium is long since gone. Perhaps the Canadian gentleman's suggestion will suffice?"

He held out an enormous roasting pan, which Lord Peter took with a grin. "This'll do nicely, Bunter. Very nicely indeed- here, help us with the sash, won't you?"

The window opened easily enough, but the pan turned out to be useless. Our glowing visitor moved forward as we got the window open, but froze in midair and backed up at the sight of the pan. I'm almost certain I heard a very tiny 'thbbt' noise then. I couldn't swear to it, though. Not wanting to waste any more time I looked over at Miss Poppins.

"Not working, gentlemen?" She sighed. "All right... go ahead and let it in. Only do be careful. Fairies can be quite nasty when they have a mind to do so."

As soon as we lowered the pan, the ball of light zoomed into the room, jingling furiously and trailing a very faint sort of luminous dust. Prince yipped curiously, but it wasn't interested in him. No, it circled around towards me instead, stopping just in front of my face.

Fairies make some pretty rude gestures when they're angry.

I didn't exactly know how to answer that short of swatting the fairy out of the air, and that really wasn't called for. Instead I shrugged my shoulders and started to apologize. It didn't want to listen, of course. It flew off instead, tinkling madly as it circled the room. I don't know who was watching it more closely, Prince or Cranston. I do know Cranston looked as if he expected the fairy to explode at any moment. It must've been a relief for him when Miss Poppins cleared her throat and said, "Over here, dear."

The conversation that followed was just about the most bizarre thing I'd seen yet, and that included Miss Poppins' first talk with Prince. She spoke English, of course, and the fairy seemed to understand. At least, it responded to what she said, but I couldn't tell you what it was saying if you paid me. Fairy speech, it seems, is all ringing bells and jingling noises. It sounds pretty enough, but from Miss Poppins' half of the conversation, the subject matter wasn't pretty at all:

"What do you mean, 'don't come'? Don't come to where?"

jingle

"Don't come to your fairyland. Why on Earth not?"

jinglejingle

"I see. How bad has it become?"

jingle

"The fairies are all starving? What does Peter have to say about this?"

JINGLEJINGLEJINGLE

"Missing?" exclaimed Miss Poppins. "Since when?"

jinglejingle

"What about the pirates?"

A motion at the edge of my vision caught my attention. It was Cranston, pinching the bridge of his nose with an expression of incredulity. "Excuse me," he said to no one in particular, "but are ALL children's books suddenly true?" For just a moment, I actually felt sorry for him. I knew exactly how he was feeling. The difference was that I'd prepared myself for this kind of thing, and he hadn't.

I started to say something, but Prince nosed at my hand. Lord Peter and the others, Bunter included, were gathering around the closed window. Apparently, our guest had not come alone. "Well, Miss Poppins," asked Lord Peter, "do we let them in as well?"

"Possibly," she answered. "It depends on the state of your pantry."

"Beg pardon? Oh- yes, this little- what's its name, anyway?"

"Cowslip."

"I see. Bunter, have we got enough on hand to show Cowslip and her friends some proper hospitality?"

"Of course, sir." The man's tone was injured, as if Lord Peter had insulted him by implying that they might not be prepared for an invasion of fairies.

"Righto, then." He slid the window open, admitting more of the creatures. "Take them into the kitchens and show them a proper good time, won't you?"

Bunter nodded, heading out of the room with the fairies in his wake.

I don't think I could chronicle the next few minutes if I tried. The room burst out in arguments, and the only thing that was absolutely clear was that several people wanted to try for Neverland instead of Oz. Not Cranston, of course. He looked like a man convinced he was trapped in a bad dream, and expected to wake up any second. I have to say that, Glasgow aside, I really am starting to feel sorry for him. It's only going to get worse from here on out; apparently we're sending a telegram to a young American woman named Ruth Plumly Thompson, the current Royal Historian of Oz. It may be some time before we get a reply, but no one's deciding anything until we hear from her.


	27. Lessons Learned

Day Forty-One Later Evening 110A Picadilly 

The trouble with telegrams is that once they're sent, you have to wait for a reply. Since Miss Thompson was in the United States, the telegram we sent would be arriving during the evening meal. So far as I could tell, that meant a long wait for us. Mostly it meant sitting about Lord Peter's flat and discussing things we already knew, but my heart wasn't in it. Something had been nagging at me ever since we raised the possibility of going to Oz.

When I approached Masutaro Otani about jiu-jitsu lessons, he warned me that the practice wasn't something you could take lightly. That was part of why he spent the first evening the way he did: he wanted me to understand what I was getting myself into. Apparently he'd had a lot of men come to him for lessons, only to drop out as soon as they found out how difficult it really was. I've seen it before myself, since a lot of the time the only thing keeping men in the Yukon is the difficulty of going back home. That's why the Mounties at the border near Skagway won't let anyone in without a year's worth of supplies to tide them over.

Mr. Otani didn't have that option. He did something else instead. Anyone who came to him for lessons had to sign a pledge. It was an agreement not to use what he taught them for improper purposes, or to teach anyone else until he said they were ready. That reminded me a little bit of a doctor's Hippocratic Oath, but there was another part to it. We- I- had to promise not to abandon the study of jiu-jutsu until I'd completed the training.

Now, I'd told Mr. Otani that I wasn't going to be living in England for a fixed length of time, and that there weren't even any Japanese living in my part of Canada, let alone jiu-jutsu instructors. For some reason that hadn't seemed to faze him. It bothered me, though. It bothered me enough that once we went the telegram off to Miss Thompson (I believe it said Dorothy was with us, or something to that effect), I gathered up Prince's leash and indicated that I was going out for a while.

It's a little over a mile from Lord Peter's apartments to Oxford Street. Didn't take long to get there at all, although getting around Picadilly Circus was a nightmare. As usual, Prince seemed happy to stay outside and wait for me. He seemed to know the School was no place for a dog. Inside, most of the other students had already finished for the day; I waited for the last few stragglers to clear away before approaching Mr. Otani.

For some reason, he didn't seem surprised to see me. "Good evening, Sergeant," he said as he started to tidy up. "Please forgive me, but I must get this done... What brings you here tonight? Not a lesson, I think."

I shifted my weight a little. For some reason, his calm manner didn't seem quite in line with what I had to say. "I'm afraid not," I said. "Although it does have to do with lessons, in a way."

"Ah?" He glanced up at that. "Go on."

I would've liked to sit, but that wasn't an option. "I have to stop my lessons for a while. I don't know for how long. I'm sorry."

"I see." He still sounded unsurprised. "Have you any idea at all?"

"Afraid not. I have to leave England, and I haven't been told how long it's going to take..."

"But you are coming back." He said it as if it were any other statement.

"Well- yes, unless something happens."

"Where are you going, if I may ask?"

I hesitated, then said, "I'm afraid I can't tell you." Not so much because of anything to do with the League, as because I had no desire for him to think I was going insane- or worse, lying to him. "It's part of why I'm in England in the first place. I didn't intend to drop out when I signed up, but-"

"Sergeant Preston." Mr. Otani held up one hand. "You do not need to explain further."

"But the pledge-"

"Is not a problem." He gave a very faint smile. "You are going to return, and unless I miss my guess, you are probably going to practise everything I have taught you all the while that you are gone..."

I stared at him. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged. "Because of who you are," he said simply.

"Excuse me?"

"Sergeant Preston, I live in London. Do you think that because I am not an Englishman, I do not know who you are? Everyone who crosses my doorstep has heard of you. Even if they had not, I have eyes and ears as good as any Englishman. I read the Times. You are a man of your word."

Even though I knew it was rude, I couldn't help but stare at him. First the police constable, and now this.

He paused in his tidying. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm still trying to get used to the idea that people halfway around the world know who I am," I confessed.

He nodded. "Modest," he said, half to himself. "That is well... Sergeant, you have already learned what is the hardest for most Englishmen who come through my door. Discipline, dedication, respect- these things take many years to teach. Very few of my students understand what it is to dedicate their lives to a task, or to properly respect another person as an equal even when he is an enemy. They look for the fight and they have already lost..."

"You never said anything about that."

"I did not have to. I saw for myself that you already knew." He reached for a broom and started sweeping the floor. "The warrior spirit of the art of jiu-jitsu is what is hardest of all to learn. To conquer your enemy with the least force possible, to the greatest effect- even when the enemy who must be conquered is your own base impulse- that is what is hardest to teach. I think, from what I have seen in these classes, that what I have heard is true."

"And what's that?"

"You already followed such a path before you ever came to me." He gave another suppressed smile. "Even if you do not understand it."

"No," I admitted, "I don't."

"It does not matter. One day you will. For now, go and fulfil your duty. Come back when you are in London again."

I thanked him and went back to Picadilly. I don't think I'll ever understand the Japanese as long as I live.

- CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE -


	28. Beggaring Belief

- CONTINUED FROM PRIOR PAGE -   
  


At any rate, when I returned from the visit to Mr. Otani, there had been some progress. According to Bunter, the first telegram hadn't gone over very well, so they'd sent a second. That one had yielded a telephone number and orders to phone Miss Thompson directly. Since the conversation was restricted to Dorothy, Miss Poppins, and Lord WPeter, the rest of us were left to our own devices.

As I settled down in one of the parlour chairs, Tom said, "We're going to Oz, aren't we?" It didn't really sound like a question.

"So it would appear," Cranston said very sourly.

"You don't sound very pleased."

"Should I be?" Cranston looked over at Tom. "Take a moment and think, Mr. Swift. Fairies. Neverland. Oz-"

"Don't forget the Sirens," murmured Hugo. He wasn't quite smiling, but he did have a certain gleam in his eye.

"Yes, thank you so much, Mr. Danner. That's exactly what I needed." Cranston stood up stiffly and began to pace. There was a tense, unhappy line to his shoulders that I knew all too well. In that moment, I felt- well, I felt genuinely sorry for him.

"I believe I know what you mean," I said, leaning forward. He paused in his pacing, looking towards me. "I've seen a lot of things in my career. A lot of the cases I've had to handle have had people- good, sensible people- swearing that magic or spirits were involved, or other things like that... but I haven't had a case yet that involved anything genuinely supernatural. Every last one's turned out to have a perfectly reasonable, rational explanation. No magic at all."

"Thank you," said Cranston, nodding fiercely. "He understands what I mean. This is not how things are supposed to be. Things have a reason, and magic isn't it. Why, back in New York there are those who attribute my own ability to conceal myself to some kind of 'mystic power to cloud men's minds', some kind of- of magic, or hypnosis-"

That was as far as he got. Prince looked up eagerly as the parlour door opened; it was Dorothy and the others, and they were smiling. Well- Miss Poppins was looking quietly, insufferably pleased, but Dorothy and Lord Peter were smiling. "Mr. Preston!" cried Dorothy. "The Wizard's coming! Miss Thompson's been talking to him, and she says he's been looking for me, and he's going to come to England! Isn't it wonderful?"

Cranston made a choking noise, but I had to smile back at her. Aside from the glowing gemstones, this was really the first time she'd had news from Oz, or anyone to do with Oz. In her shoes I'd have been just as excited. "He'll be here in a week," she went on. "Miss Thompson says he'll be meeting her in a day, and then it'll be four days before he can leave for England, but he's coming!"

"That leaves us enough time to check on Oz," interjected Miss Poppins. "Miss Thompson told us that the Wizard hasn't been able to reach Oz himself, and would be interested in any news we had-"

Cranston grimaced, sitting down as his hands went to his temples. Lord Peter looked at him, then said in a solicitous voice, "I say, are you all right?"

"I could use a drink," Cranston muttered. "I don't suppose your man's any good at Irish coffee?"

"Oh, Bunter's right brilliant at anything. Bunter?"

The manservant appeared at the parlour door. "Yes, sir?"

"Irish coffee for our American friend, if you would."

Bunter glanced towards Cranston. "How Irish, sir?" he asked. "Dublin, or Cork?"

"Belfast," said Cranston.

"Very good, sir," said Bunter, bowing as he left.

"Well!" said Lord Peter brightly, flopping into one of the chairs. "Off again, off again, is it? I shall pack my things directly, of course, but that does beggar the question of what we're going to tell our man upstairs."

"Downstairs," said Hugo.

"Beg pardon?"

"J.'s downstairs." Hugo made a snaking gesture with one hand. "Remember the tunnels?"

"Ah, yes, quite right, quite right." Lord Peter smiled. "'tis his blimp, after all, so we owe him some explanation. Not the whole of the thing, obviously- can't quite put full faith and credit in a fellow who doesn't put full faith in us- but something."

I nodded. "I don't like the idea of deceiving the Crown," I said slowly, "but given the situation..."

"And what you were saying earlier about imperialism, Sergeant." That was Cranston.

"Right."

"All right, we don't tell them we're going to Oz. What are we to say instead? Neverland? Fairies? That'll keep them off our trail, all right." Cranston got up and started to pace again.

"Pirates," said Miss Poppins. Everyone looked at her in surprise. "We've received intelligence from the fairies of Neverland, after all; if they can reach Britain, so can other people. I should think the pirates constitute a sufficient threat to Britain's security to be investigated, don't you?"

"Well-"

"Indicate that we intend to travel to Neverland- which I daresay we shall, later- and tell them what Cowslip said, that the pirates are too much of a threat for the natives to so much as forage for food."

"Fairies can get to our world from Neverland, but they can't go outside?" muttered Hugo.

"So our friends tell me, Mr. Danner."

"Excuse me," said Cranston. "Where's that coffee?"

A somewhat more haggard-looking Bunter poked his head into the parlour. "Begging your pardon, sirs," he said. "I did not mean to take so long." He handed Cranston a tray with several glasses and a bottle of Bushmills. "Belfast it is."

That may have been the first time I saw the American smile.

I couldn't help it. "Bunter?"

"Yes, sir?"

I saluted. He'd earned it.

Since Miss Poppins offered no further explanation for the fairies' pirate problem, Hugo fell quiet. Tom, on the other hand, was looking thoughtful. "Dorothy," he said, "didn't you mention something about a desert around Oz?"

"Yes, the Deadly Desert," the girl answered. "Anything that touches the sands dies. There's signs all 'round it in Ev."

"Hmm."

"I've crossed it several times," Dorothy went on. "Once in a sandboat. Once on a magic carpet that unfolded itself as we walked, so that it kept going in front of us. And the Wizard and me flew over it, of course."

"So a carpet's enough to keep us from being affected, but our shoes aren't?"

"Well, it was a magic carpet," Dorothy reminded him. "I don't think even the Silver Slippers would've been enough to walk across, really."

"Right, right…" Tom was looking very thoughtful indeed. "I could bodge together a sailboat in a hurry if you gave me a drawing, but that might take us a while. How high would we have to fly to get there safely in the dirigible? Never mind, you probably wouldn't know... are there any other ways?"

"Underground," I commented. "The Nome King tunneled under the sands once, when he was trying to invade."

Dorothy blinked, turning towards me with a look of wide-eyed surprise. "You've been reading the Histories!" she exclaimed, delighted.

"Well- yes. It seemed like it might be a wise idea..."

She smiled at me. It was very nearly her visit-to-the-zoo smile.

"I've been reading a lot of things, Dorothy," I admitted. "I don't like being caught unprepared... that reminds me. Tom? I know shoes aren't worth much against these desert sands, but still- is there any chance you have some kind of material you could work up to protect Prince's paws? Even if it's just against sharp objects. He hasn't liked walking around the London pavement very much."

"I'll see what I can do."

There was a long, loud sigh from Cranston. Even Bushmill's isn't enough sometimes, I guess. "Why couldn't this be an ordinary criminal mastermind's plot?" he asked of no one in particular.

There was something so aggrieved about his air that I had to say it. "Believe it or not, I know how you feel. I'm half expecting to run into Sam McGee myself, at this point."

He smiled humorlessly at me. "Who's Sam McGee?" asked Dorothy.

"A man in a poem- did you ever read anything by Robert Service?" She shook her head. "There was a poem called "The Cremation of Sam McGee", about a man from Tennessee who came to the Yukon to search for gold. The Yukon winter was so cold that when he died, his last request was to be cremated so that he'd at least be a little warm-"

I never got any further than that, because there came a knock at our door. We weren't expecting visitors, naturally, not even from the telegram company; imagine then what the atmosphere in the room must've been like when the door opened to reveal J. "I expect you're going to need this," he said, and held out- well, he held out a rolled-up Persian carpet, which was accepted by a dumbstruck Hugo Danner.

I looked at Tom then. He was shaking his head. "But the telephone wasn't being monitored," he said slowly. "The telegrams-"

J. smiled dryly. "It wasn't the cables, either, Mr. Swift. Set your mind at ease. It was your visitors- the glowing ones. You've got rather a lot of them."

He didn't say more than that, except to request a full report when we returned from Oz. Then he was gone, and we were left with the Persian carpet (and, for me at least, the knowledge that we weren't going to have to deceive the Crown after all). "What did he mean, 'rather a lot of them?' wondered Hugo aloud as he looked towards the kitchen.

"Dunno. Hugo, bring that thing in here and roll it out, would you?" Tom was clearing the furniture out of the middle of the parlour floor. "I want to see- hey, where'd Dorothy go?"

"She and Miss Poppins are in the kitchen with Bunter," I said, as I'd seen them leave. "I'm pretty sure this isn't her carpet, though. That one didn't have any kind of Persian designs or fancy work on it."

Tom looked up from prodding at one of the frayed spots- it was really a rather large carpet. "You're sure?"

"Positive. Although…" I glanced at the wall. "If this is anything like the one Dorothy used, it should be able to unroll in the front while it's rolling up in the back. I wonder if we could use it to walk up one of the walls."

"Well, then!" exclaimed Lord Peter, crouching to unroll it the rest of the way himself. "You've said the magic words- it's not every day a man gets to see 'down' redefined in his own parlour! I say we give it a try right h- oh."

Apparently it was the other kind of magic carpet. Fully unrolled, it hovered half a foot off the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cranston reaching for the Bushmills again. Lord Peter, on the other hand, was delighted- and Prince was curious enough to get up and pad forward so that he could get a better sniff at the carpet. I just shook my head a little, standing back to watch as a series of experiments determined that the carpet responded to voice commands from its rider. 'Forward', 'back', 'left', 'right', 'up', and 'down' all worked very well, but when Tom began speculating aloud about how it would respond to talk of forward-thinking philosophers and backwards nations, the thing actually bucked him off- or at least tried to, anyway. He took it in stride (I'd be surprised if he didn't), grinning as he hopped off. "Hey, Sergeant," he said, "will your dog be all right with riding this thing?"

"Why, I don't know. Prince?" I pointed to the carpet. "Up, boy."

Obediently, Prince hopped up onto the hovering carpet. It didn't sag under him any more than it had under a man's weight. Neither did it attempt to move. I followed my dog a moment later, curious to see whether it responded to sled-dog commands (it didn't, but it did seem willing to increase or decrease its speed on request). "I think we'll be all right," I said. "I don't know how long it can fly, though. This seems like the kind of thing we ought to ask Miss Poppins about."

"Fair enough."

We only meant to look into the kitchen long enough to call Miss Poppins out, but there was no chance of that once we got there. Bunter's odd weary look earlier, J.'s comment on how he found us- it all made sense now.

Cowslip had scores of friends. And they were all over the kitchen.

"I fear, sir," said Bunter with as much dignity as can be mustered by a man whose domain is under giggling fairy assault, "that our guests have made themselves quite at home. It will require at least one trip to the nearest off-license before our supplies are the least bit respectable again." With a restrained, aggrieved air, he reached up and removed an all-but-unconscious fairy from where it had wedged itself in his collar. "I must also beg your Lordship's pardon, but the pantry has been visited with similar enthusiasm."

Lord Peter was trying not to laugh. It wasn't working very well. Fairies are a strange enough sight to someone who's grown up in modern England, I suppose, but when you take someone whose body is smaller than the palm of my hand and give them access to an English lord's private stash of alcohol... well. There wasn't a fairy there who could fly a straight line to save its life. The wiser ones weren't even trying. I believe I saw one that had found its way into a wine decanter; it was sitting there, happily imitating a miniature lantern and letting out the occasional tiny belch.

"Look, Bunter," Lord Peter said at last when he'd got to the point of trusting his words again, "we've had a visit from our man with no proper name. Restockin' the cupboard can wait until we've got back-" He ducked as one of the fairies dive-bombed his head, then continued. "I don't suppose this lot's capable of finding their way to somewhere a bit more congenial? Picadilly's going to be awfully empty for a few days."

Bunter eyed another of the fairies, who was standing on tiptoe on the edge of the sink. It gave him a wobbly salute, tinkling wildly. Miss Poppins, who appeared unaffected by it all, calmly noted, "They'll be all right soon enough- and their friends will help them find their way." ("How many more of them are there?" I heard Tom exclaim.) "Where is it you wish them to go?"

Lord Peter gave a broad, sunny smile. "Why, my brother's residence at Duke's Denver," he exclaimed. "Plenty of room for as many fairies as they can muster, and as much beef as they can eat, still on the hoof. Helen should be able to spare a cow or three, I'm sure."

A look of something suspiciously like relief crossed Bunter's face as Lord Peter earnestly described the route the fairy troop would have to take to reach Denver. It didn't last long- every last one of the fairies who had visited the kitchen began swarming out into the middle of the room, all erratically circling like a cloud of glowing, tinkling midges. Bunter took that as a signal; murmuring something about having to get started on packing straightaway, he hurried out of the way. The mess of fairies swirled along in his wake, headed for the parlour window. Outside there was an even bigger crowd of the creatures- sober, but no less blatantly out of place.

"Well," murmured Hugo, "that explains how J. found us."

Dorothy giggled and began guiding the more intoxicated creatures out the window. I looked down at Prince; he wagged his tail, apparently thinking none of this was the least bit unusual. "Keep that up, Prince," I said. "We're all going to need some of that spirit where we're going."

That's as far as things have progressed. There was some discussion among the men about weapons we might need to bring with us- Cranston in particular feared that there may be trouble, whether from the Prufrocks or from someone else, and that technological weaponry might not work. I told him there were guns in use in Oz, but just in case, we've decided to arm ourselves with extra care. I've got my service revolver, Tom's rifle, a good stout hatchet, and my skinning and gutting knife. More than that would be too much, I think. Besides, I'm not trained in the use of things like swords and fighting knives. There's very little more dangerous than a man with a weapon he doesn't know how to use.


	29. The Calm Before The Storm

Day Forty-Two Sunday, September 18, 1936   
Somewhere Over Spain 

On our way. Prince still doesn't like flying. Smart dog.

Had a jarring thought earlier. Miss Poppins was insisting Dorothy get some sleep during the dirigible ride. She said something, didn't quite hear what, about how Dorothy might be a princess where we were going but was still a growing girl. I remembered the publication date on that copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and then... well, then it occurred to me that Louise was born in 1893.

That little girl is probably older than my late wife.


	30. Since I Left Plumtree Down In Tennessee

Day Forty-Three / First Day in Oz  
Somewhere Over the Deadly Desert  
Afternoon

I am never going to look at that Service poem the same way again. In fact, if I can help it, I'm not going to read that poem again at all.

Most of our trip was accomplished before dawn. We took it in turns to rest on the way here, with Tom taking the controls from Cranston when it was his turn to rest. That didn't last long- Cranston's learned some kind of trance or something that makes three hours' rest do the work of eight. He was back at the controls when the sun came up. According to the Prufrock charts, the area we had to aim for was somewhere over the region of French West Africa. We'd had pretty smooth sailing thus far, so the sight of clouds over our target coordinates wasn't especially worrisome. Cranston piloted us into the cloud bank. I didn't like the idea, thinking they looked a bit like thunderclouds, but we had no lightning or storm-winds. After a few minutes, we came out over a coastline.

I could say a number of things here about how I recognized what we were looking at, but what it really came down to was this: French West Africa has a southern coastline. Unless we'd been severely turned around inside that cloud, we were looking at a northern one.

Somewhere off to one side, I heard a soft, happy sigh. "That's it," said Dorothy, leaning forward to press her forehead against the dirigible window. "That's Ev."

"Should I take us down here?" came Cranston's voice from the cockpit.

Miss Poppins shook her head. "Not just yet," she said. "Dorothy, what do you recognize?"

"Well- those trees, there-" She squinted. "I b'lieve those are the lunchbox trees. I can't really tell, though."

"Hang on a minute." Tom, who had been shading his eyes with both hands against the glass, turned around. "I've got a telescope around here somewhere."

Hugo, still at the window, frowned. "Is it just me, or does that look like smoke in the distance?" he asked of nobody in particular. "Coming from over there?"

Tom glanced over his shoulder briefly. "Can't tell- give me a second-" From his traveling bag he produced a polished brass spyglass, which he handed to Hugo. "Give it a look, and then pass it on to Dorothy, would you?"

"Sure thing." Hugo fiddled with the telescope for a bit before turning it on the suspicious smudge. "Yeah... yeah, that's not cloud. That looks like smoke, all right. Can't make out any of the details from here, though."

"Sorry," said Tom. "That's just for recreational purposes. If you want better, I could probably work something up-"

"Maybe later." Hugo handed the scope to Dorothy. "We're heading that way anyway- right, Miss Poppins?"

"It is the lunchbox trees!" Dorothy called out, interrupting anything Miss Poppins might've said. "And- there's people! Although they're acting awf'ly strange."

"Strange how, Dorothy?" Miss Poppins moved forward, her eyes moving for just a moment to the distant smoke.

"Well- they're in among the trees, and they don't seem to be coming out." She looked up at Miss Poppins, frowning. "And I know we're all this way up in the air, but I could swear one of them looked right at me, just before he ran away into the trees."

"That's pretty much impossible at this distance," Tom commented. He'd ignored Hugo and started sketching out telescope designs on a scrap of paper. Miss Poppins murmured something to Dorothy and slipped out of the room.

We were coming in closer to the trees all the while. Dorothy turned her attention back to the scope. She frowned for a moment. "There's people," she reported, "but they're all hiding. I can't see very much of any of 'em."

"Don't suppose there's a chance of it being a hunt in progress?" Lord Peter wondered.

"There's no hunting in Oz," Dorothy answered. "And not in Ev, neither." She tried peering through the scope again, but the frown never left her face. "Huh..."

Miss Poppins returned. "Mr. Cranston regrets that he cannot take us down low enough to get a better view," she reported, "as he has no wish to see this dirigible gutted on the treetops of Ev. However, if you gentlemen- and you, too, Dorothy- can wait but a moment..." She rested her hand on her parrot-headed umbrella; if she were anyone else, I'd have called the look on her face a smile.

Lord Peter chuckled. "Going to pay them a call yourself, hey? Good thinking, that."

"What about the carpet?" Hugo asked, indicating the rolled-up broadloom in the corner.

"Not just yet, Mr. Danner. We've arrived in a potentially delicate situation." Miss Poppins adjusted her hat and started towards the entry hatch. "Let's not leap into this before we look, hmm?"

I only flinched a little when Hugo threw open the hatch and Miss Poppins stepped out, protected only by her umbrella. It probably says something about the ability of the human mind to adapt to things. I'm not sure what, exactly, but something. Tom and Lord Peter leaned over to watch for a moment before everyone flocked to the windows to get a safer view of what was going on below.

Miss Poppins cruised serenely over the trees, her umbrella clutched firmly in one hand as she drifted downwards. At first there was no response that any of us could see. A moment later, there came motion among the trees. Dorothy, who still had Tom's telescope, announced, "I can see people- they're looking up at her-"

Then she almost dropped the telescope, but it didn't matter. We all saw it. That was when the people in the trees started firing on Miss Poppins. I've been on the wrong end of Indian bows once or twice. Fortunately, I've talked my way out of it, but I've seen them fired. They're built for close stalking, and can't shoot all that far. They'd have been preferable to what I saw, because these people were firing wooden spears that tore through the air like rifle bullets. Some of them passed perilously close to Miss Poppins. Fortunately she knew her flying and started evasive maneuvers immediately, but the people concealed in the forest kept up their fire until she'd all but been pulled back into the dirigible.

"I'm all right, I'm all right," she announced, shaking off Tom's and Dorothy's worried questions. "No, I was not struck- but I have never been so rudely received in all my life!"

"It's not like them to do something like this," fretted Dorothy. "The people in Ev are just as friendly as the people in Oz! They wouldn't do this kind of thing!"

"Perhaps," said Miss Poppins. "Or perhaps something has happened to them..." She lifted her eyes to the smoke in the distance. "They may have reason to believe that anyone who comes from the air is an enemy. I think we'd better turn away from the forests and make for the city- perhaps we'll find some answers there."

Dorothy bit her lip as Miss Poppins left to relay the orders to Cranston. "But who would do that?" she asked of no one in particular. "It can't be the Wheelers, they made peace with the royal family years ago, and anyway they don't have any hands!"

I didn't say anything. I was starting to suspect, but that was all I had- and anyway, we'd find out soon enough. Nothing harmless makes enough smoke to be seen from that far away.

The zeppelin moves pretty quickly when it has to. We pulled away from the lunchbox trees and were out of spear range almost immediately. It wasn't far to the city- at least, from up in the sky it wasn't. I don't like flying, but I'll admit it has its uses. Travel is one of them. Surveillance is another. We had a much clearer view of the outskirts of the city from the blimp than we ever could've on the ground. Mind you, there wasn't that much to see, since the streets of Ev's main city were completely empty. Not a single person seemed to be anywhere in sight, whether we used the telescope or not.

I glanced over at Lord Peter as we turned towards the royal castle. His expression was as grim as I've ever seen it. "Evacuated," he said, in a voice not at all like his own. "If we're lucky."

It sounded like an awfully strange thing to say. I started to answer him. Then I remembered his files in the dossier J. had originally given us. Lord Peter had served five years in an artillery regiment during the Great War.

I looked back to the window. The idea that I wasn't the only one thinking such thoughts wasn't comforting.

"Gentlemen," came Miss Poppins' voice, "I suggest you sit down. Mr. Cranston will be mooring our vessel to the castle roof shortly, after which we will all pay a visit to the Royal Family of Ev." She hesitated, then continued. "Or, rather, we will attempt to do so."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom, who was already seated.

Miss Poppins indicated the view from the window. "See for yourself."

We couldn't make out as much detail from where we sat, but I'm not sure we really needed detail anyway. The small part of the castle that was visible from this angle- well, it didn't look good. It looked like the residents had boarded up the windows in a hurry and fled from some enormous fire, and a recent fire at that. There hadn't even been rain to wash away the worst of the smoke from the stone.

"Unless I am wrong," said Miss Poppins in a tone that fairly said 'and I am never wrong', "some catastrophe has befallen the Kingdom of Ev. Some human catastrophe."

"It would explain the spears," I muttered. "Peaceable people don't attack visitors unless they've been attacked first."

Dorothy blanched, her eyes never leaving the window. "Best we be careful," said Lord Peter. "Mr. Danner, would you mind taking the lead for us?"

"Not at all."

"Right." Lord Peter produced a cloth from somewhere and started rubbing at his monocle. "The rest of us had better arm ourselves, I think. I expect it's as much bad form here to go into the Presence armed as back home, but we can always leave our guns with the coat-check girl if we're wrong." He put the cloth away, considering something. "Dorothy, does that marvelous Belt of yours still work?"

"Why- of course, Uncle Peter."

Uncle? I wondered at that, but he'd started talking again. "Very well, then. Since our inestimable pilot's brought us safely alongside-" He nodded to Cranston, who had emerged from the cockpit wrapped in the hat and cloak he'd worn in Glasgow. "I do believe it's time. Let's go, gentlemen. And ladies."

As Lord Peter had suggested, Hugo Danner went first, and brought my dog with him. For some reason, Prince didn't look any happier to be on solid ground again. I found out why as soon as I joined them: the smell. 'Smell' isn't even the right word for it- 'stench' would be closer. The air around the castle reeked of smoke and other things- worse things. Not even Dawson City, the morning after the Fire, smelled like that.

Most of the city's people had been saved from the Dawson Fire. This was the smell of human burning.

I would've liked to cover my nose and mouth, but I had neither the time nor the means. All I could do was offer Prince a rub behind the ears- he was worse off than any of us, poor fellow- and check, very quickly, on my revolver. Whoever had done this might still be about. I had no way of knowing whether Tom's electric rifles would work here, but I knew for a fact that ordinary guns worked just fine in Oz. I had a feeling I'd be needing it sooner than I liked.

Lord Peter hopped off the last rung of the ladder, his face even grimmer than before. He said nothing as he helped Dorothy and Miss Poppins down. He didn't need to. I suspect every one of us, even Dorothy, was thinking the same thing. None of us much wanted to go through the only door that led down from that patch of the castle's roof, but none of us had a choice. Not if we wanted to know what had become of these poor people. I started to ask Miss Poppins if we shouldn't leave Dorothy behind on the blimp, but Dorothy had already slipped away from Miss Poppins' side. She was the first through the door after Hugo.

We started after her at a run, down the stairs into the castle proper. I'm still not sure if we didn't somehow run out of the light of day and into some waking nightmare instead. The reek on the rooftop had been nothing, nothing compared to this. Here the smoke still hung in the air, almost thick enough to touch. Black, greasy smudge and ash covered everything that remained- the floor, the walls, the other doors, the bits of ceiling-beam that hadn't been entirely destroyed by the fire. Rippling lines of interlocking black ran along the floor in places, looking like nothing so much as the skin of the stuffed crocodile in the British Museum.

Tom bent over to examine one of the marks, pushing Prince and Toto to one side. "Incendiaries," he murmured as the dogs went off to sniff around the room. "Some kind of accelerant to ensure the place went up in a hurry- then incendiary weapons-"

I glanced sidelong at Dorothy. She'd gone all white in the face, and her hands were shaking, but she didn't falter. She moved very slowly into the middle of the room, looking around as if she half expected it to vanish at any moment. "How..." she began, then had to swallow. "How did this happen? Who did this? "

Before I could say a word, Hugo put up a hand. "Sergeant," he said, "I think you'd better come have a look at this. Right now."

He was standing on the far side of the room, near a heap that lay close to one of the doors. Dorothy started to follow me, but Hugo shook his head, and she stopped. As soon as I got there, he stood aside. "There," he said, pointing to a charred, blackened lump on the floor. "Tell me if that's what I think it is."

I bent down to get a closer look. It was about half the length of my forearm, tattered on one end, knurled and bent on the other. Its original shape was hard to tell, since the fire had twisted it up so tightly. I reached out to turn it over, thinking the underside might've escaped the fire.

It had a pale patch, I saw that first. Right where it had lain in contact with the floor. There was a wrinkle running through it, just like the one around my left wrist, and a lump like the bone-

And there, tucked under the bottom in the only place that hadn't been burned, I saw it. The thumb.

Someone's fist.

I looked up at Hugo, whose expression was nearly as terrible as Lord Peter's, and nodded once. I didn't trust myself to speak. "I'll warn the others," he said softly, and moved off- leaving me with the grisly relic.

I've seen death in my day, and I'd thought I'd seen the worst that people had to offer, but this... you didn't normally see things like this in the Yukon. Not unless someone made a mistake with a bear-trap, or gangrene was involved. It looked too neat somehow to be an accident- yes, the end was ragged, but it looked more like a badly tanned hide than something torn apart by the forces of fire- and anyway, where was the rest of the corpse? This looked deliberate.

Then it occurred to me, and I wished with all my might that it hadn't. The books said it again and again. Even if someone in Oz were to cut someone else into hundreds of pieces, they'd still be alive. The pieces would go on living. The person would still feel and hear and see-

I didn't even do it consciously. I only know that I saw my own hands moving as if of their own accord. One, to pick up the half-an-arm- and the other to brush the scorched wrist clean before searching for the artery. For just a moment, I felt nothing. I started to put the thing down again, and that's when I felt the pulse moving under my fingertips.

Funny, how some things can ring through your head in an instant, even if you haven't read them in years.

> > > _And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;   
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,   
and he said: "Please close that door.   
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --   
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,   
it's the first time I've been warm."_

I stood up. "Miss Poppins!" I called out. "This one's still alive!"

The others gathered around in a hurry, crowding in to see. I did my best to keep the hand out of Dorothy's sight, though I don't know how much good that did. Tom insisted on checking for the pulse himself, not that I blame him. I'd've done the same in his shoes. As he handed me back the arm I had an idea, and whistled Prince over. "What are you doing, Sergeant?" Cranston asked.

I held out the arm for Prince to inspect. "We're in Oz, aren't we? Or close enough that it makes no difference?"

He nodded slowly, still looking a little wary.

"Well," I said, trying not to think too hard about what I was saying, "if this piece is still alive, then all of the pieces are still alive. Prince, find me the rest of- find me every piece that smells like this."

Prince wagged his tail once and immediately started sniffing around the room, Toto at his heels. I set the arm down carefully as he brought back what looked like its match from the other side; it was all a little too much like something out of Frankenstein for me. I had a bad feeling that someone was going to suggest sewing the burned parts together when Prince had found them all. Fortunately, the only suggestion anyone made was that we ought to look for something to cover the parts and give them a chance to grow back together on their own. I believe that was Tom's idea. Miss Poppins led Dorothy off into one of the other rooms in search of a blanket, and I found a patch of almost-clean wall to lean against and close my eyes.

"Are you all right, Sergeant?" I heard Lord Peter ask. I nodded.

"I just need a minute and I'll be fine. Sorry, your Lordship," I said, "but I wasn't ready for this."

"No one ever is," he said a bit distantly. There was a dragging noise, and the sound of Prince dropping something. I didn't like to imagine what he must've found. "First time?"

"Afraid so." There was another vile thump. "Does it ever get any easier?"

"No."

"Hey," said Hugo, "I think we've got a full person here."

I opened my eyes. Prince was backing away from what did, indeed, look like an entire person. Dorothy and Miss Poppins had returned with a blanket, which was a mercy. As they unfolded the blanket and started to cover up the pile, I couldn't help but notice Dorothy's face. There was a hard, closed look to her features, a tightness about her eyes that I knew all too well. When that kind of rage snapped its leash, grown men would do just about anything in the name of revenge.

Then and there, I decided two things. One was that I was going to keep a very close watch on Dorothy from there on out. Miss Poppins might have been the finest nanny since the Pharaoh's daughter hired Moses' mother to look after her river child, but no woman should have to deal with that kind of rage. The other? No matter what she looked like, Dorothy definitely wasn't a little girl. Not any more.

A low noise I hadn't heard before brought me back to myself: Prince, growling. The big husky stood facing one of the interior castle doors, fur bristling furiously. Beside him, Toto was doing much the same. I caught Cranston's eye and pointed; he swore. "We've got company," he snapped to the others, drawing his .45s. "Time to go. Ladies first."

I whistled to the dogs and reached for my revolver. "They'll have to get through both of us," I said. "Toto, go with Dorothy. Prince, get ready-"

That's when it all dissolved into chaos and gunsmoke. The door got kicked open by armed soldiers. Cranston started firing in the same instant. I remember hearing Miss Poppins yelling, and Dorothy's voice protesting. Someone scooped up Toto as he dashed past me, looking for his mistress. Prince lunged at one of the soldiers, barking furiously, a bullet missing him by inches. I kept listening for the sizzle of an electric rifle overhead, but none came. All I could do was keep shooting and falling back one step at a time-

"Sergeant! Lamont! Now!"

Cranston shot me a look. I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled to Prince. We were just at the stairs; he snapped at the soldiers one last time, then shot past me, running for all he was worth.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: he's as smart as any man. I followed him, and Cranston brought up the rear.

We're away from the castle now, heading back towards the forests. Hugo got a glimpse of our adversaries as we were leaving. Their uniforms don't seem to correspond to any military we know of, but they're a drab greyish colour that isn't in keeping with any of the fairy countries. Given a choice between Ev natives trying to down us with spears and Earthmen doing the same with rifles and flamethrowers, I'll take the spears every time.

Dorothy hasn't said much since we got away from the castle. Apparently when the soldiers came in, she bolted for one of the other rooms- that's what the yelling was about. She said she had an idea that might keep them from shooting at us again, but she hasn't spoken since. I don't know what's going on in her head right now, but I can guess.

All I know for certain is that we're going to have to resolve this situation as quickly and as cleanly as possible. Otherwise, there's going to be Hell to pay. 


	31. Conversations

Day Forty-Three / First Day in Oz  
Somewhere Over the Forests of Ev  
Late Afternoon

Things are beginning to look up, if only a little bit. I won't say more than that. This hasn't been a good day for optimism.

Dorothy's venture into the castle's other rooms wasn't a random dash. She'd spotted something when we'd moored the dirigible- a flagpole, with the flag of Ev still flying. As we made for the forests, she brought it out, along with a white sheet she'd taken from the same closet as the blanket. "I'd like to try something," she said, "but I'm going to need some paint, and a stick. Mister Swift, have you got any paint?"

"Sorry," said Tom. "I didn't think we'd be needing it."

"That's all right, dear." Miss Poppins reached into her carpet-bag. "I presume you want blue, green, lavender, and pink?"

"I don't think we've got time for that," Dorothy said soberly. "Just the green, please."

Miss Poppins silently produced paint-jars, paintbrush, needle, and thread. I'm starting to think she could carry a year's worth of supplies for the Yukon in there.

At any rate, Dorothy immediately set to work painting the monogram of Oz on the sheet. "I'd like Mister Cranston to take us back to where we saw the people," she said. "I think they'll let us talk to them if they see we're friendly. Can I borrow the magic carpet?"

I winced. "I don't know if that's such a safe idea, Dorothy. Someone might take a potshot at you before you got the flag up, and you might get knocked off."

"Oh, I'll be careful, Mister Preston," she said. "I won't go low enough to get hit until they stop shooting, I promise."

I shook my head, but what could I do? She was absolutely determined to go. I just didn't have the heart to stop her. Miss Poppins would have to be the one to intervene if anything went wrong.

Miss Poppins seemed to be having somewhat different thoughts. "It's all very well to contact them this way, but we ought to establish proper communications if we're going to accomplish anything. Ferrying people up and down on the carpet isn't very practical."

"Actually, Miss Poppins," said Tom, "I may be able to help with that. I've been working on something." He stepped out of the room for a moment and came back with a box. "I was thinking about Glasgow- you know, when we were split into two groups? Since none of us want that to happen again, I've been working on these." He started handing the devices around. "Wireless radio transmitters and receivers. Press the button there and speak; let go of the button and receive. They've got a pretty good power cell inside, but I haven't had the chance to test what their range is like."

Miss Poppins nodded, looking to Dorothy. "All right, then; we shall give that a try."

Dorothy was busy attaching her flags to the piece of wood she'd been given. "What's this, Miss Poppins?"

"We need to speak with Tom for a few moments, dear."

After that there really wasn't anything for it. Tom gave Dorothy one of the wireless devices, and passed the other to Miss Poppins. They unrolled the carpet, opened the hatch, and floated right out. I'll be the first to admit I don't like flying in this dirigible, but the idea of having to ride over a forest of hostile natives on nothing but a scrap of cloth… well, that's not something that sits well with me at all. That's one brave young woman we have with us. I'll admit she looked a little scared when she started waving the flags, but who could blame her? The spears could've come at her any second. I'm a little surprised she knew semaphore at all- at least, that's what it looked like she was trying to do. I couldn't make out the exact words, as Tom had the telescope.

Either the people of Ev knew semaphore too, or the sight of the flags was enough, but I didn't see any spears this time. The carpet moved further down towards the trees with Mary and Dorothy on it. Still nothing.

"Think they're going to land?" asked Hugo, echoing what was in my head.

"No, I'm not-" Tom frowned, adjusting the telescope. "Hey, I think they're coming back." He picked up one of the other wireless handsets. "Dorothy?" he asked, pressing one of the buttons. "Dorothy, can you hear me?"

When he let go of the button there was only a hissing noise. He frowned, then tried again. "Miss Poppins?"

"I should get the hatch open if I were you, Mister Swift," came Miss Poppins' voice. "And point your telescope towards the city proper."

Hugo stepped away from the window to open the hatch, but Tom stayed where he was. "I don't think I- holy cow!" He handed me the telescope. "Cranston! We gotta move, we've got company coming!"

Even without the telescope I could make out the grey column on the ground, slowly advancing from the city in our direction. It was Lord Peter who spoke the words of confirmation, though. "Soldiers," he said grimly. "Rather a lot of them, too. Gentlemen, we've been spotted."

I didn't bother looking after that, but went over to help Hugo get the ladies into the dirigible instead. The sudden roar of the engines being kicked into life drowned out his question to Dorothy. It wasn't until we closed the hatch and he repeated himself that I heard what he'd said: "What happened to your wireless?"

"Prince Evring," Dorothy answered. "He thought it was something to eat at first, but I 'spect he's figured it out by now- oh, Miss Poppins, can we try to reach him? Is yours all right?"

"Yes, dear." She held out the handset to Dorothy, who took it and rushed to the windows. The rest of us followed; I could just about make out a boy quite a few years younger than Dorothy below if I squinted. Through Tom's telescope I could see that he was fumbling with a handset of his own.

"Evring!" cried Dorothy. "Evring, can you hear me?"

There was a little crackling from the handset. "Dorothy?"

She beamed. "Yes, it's me, Evring! Are you-"

"Where's Ozma? Is she with you?"

Dorothy blinked. "Why, I- I don't know, Evring. She's not with me. Isn't she in the Em'rald City?"

The radio was silent for a little bit. "I... don't know?"

She looked to us for help as he said that. I don't think anyone knew what to say. Fortunately, Prince Evring started talking again. "No one's heard from her in ages! We thought both of you were dead!"

"What? What happened?" Dorothy cried, shocked.

"We- we haven't heard from Oz in years. Not since the grey men-"

"The what?"

"The men! They've been attacking us- the out- mostly- they just-"

Bursts of static were starting to interrupt Evring's words. Dorothy gave Tom a pleading look, but it didn't do much good. Tom gestured to the moving landscape out the window and mouthed 'out of range'. "Evring," Dorothy said then, "are you all right? What about the rest of the Royal Family? Do you hear me, Evring?"

The Prince's words weren't even comprehensible after that. Dorothy peered out the window, biting her lip. Then, with a great sigh, she dropped the handset and lifted one hand in a great, sweeping wave.

The all-but-invisible child below us waved slowly in reply before vanishing completely from sight.

Dorothy turned to Tom and silently gave him back the handset. I don't like to think how much effort that must have cost her. She was as pale as I've ever seen her. It looked like all she wanted to do- or all she could do- was pace back and forth, glancing out at the window now and again with a grimly bright look in her eye. I didn't have the telescope and I'm not sure who did, but even without it I could see the column of soldiers receding in the distance as we made for the Desert, and Oz. I grimaced at the thought of those men reaching the forests, but there wasn't anything we could do. Not yet, anyway.

Before I could say anything, though, someone else spoke- Lord Peter. "Dorothy?" he asked quietly. There was something almost haunted about his voice.

"Yes, Uncle Peter?"

"I've been thinking about something." He steepled his fingers, staring into the middle distance. "As we discovered at the castle, people don't die here. Does that apply to everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously the natives can't be killed, not after what we saw, but... People who come to this country from our world. Can they die here?"

"Oh yes," said Dorothy. "It's only the folks who're born here who can't die. Glinda always said."

"Good," said Lord Peter, and fell silent.

That was an even less comforting thought, if a true one. I expect Prince could tell how little I liked it, because he bumped his head against my leg and whined a little- but that made me think of something else. I wasn't sure how things stood in Ev, but it was worth a try.

I took a deep breath, and looked down at my dog. "Prince?"

He blinked, cocking his head the way he always does.

"Can you speak?" I asked. "English, I mean?"

"Of course," he said, very reasonably indeed. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering," I said, and he nodded.

Someone cleared his throat on the other side of the room. It was Cranston. He'd briefly stepped out of the cockpit, and was staring at Prince and myself. "Sergeant," he said, his expression almost exactly as I remembered it from Lord Peter's apartments, "did you just have a conversation with your dog?"

"Well, it wasn't much of a conversation, really."

He groaned, his hand coming up to cover his face.

"Dorothy! Dorothy!" I heard a small unfamiliar voice cry. I had to suppress a smile at that sound. There was only one possible source for that. "There's no more food! All the food's gone!"

"I don't believe this," Cranston murmured. "I'm going to go fly the dirigible, if you don't mind."

"You do that," said Tom absently. He had the scope to his face, and was scanning the landscape below. "We're coming up on the desert."

I don't believe I've ever seen Cranston look so relieved as he did in that moment before he turned and walked away.

"Dorothy! Dorothy!"

"I'm coming, Toto."

Lord Peter shook his head briefly, then smiled. It wasn't a very good smile, but he seemed to be putting on a game effort. "Bunter?" he called.

"Yes, sir?"

Where he'd been hiding I don't know. I'm not sure I want to.

"Take Miss Gale and her canine companion down to the galleys, would you? He's got a bit more of an appetite than most of us at the moment."

"Of course, sir," Bunter said smoothly before leading Dorothy and Toto off.

Lord Peter sank back in his chair with a sigh. A moment later he leaned forward again. "What's got you so all-fired interested?" he asked of Tom, who was still at the window.

"There's ships," the American answered. "Sand-ships. They don't look anything like what I'd been expecting. They're practically submarines." There was a certain annoyance in his voice. It sounded almost as if he were more upset that he hadn't come up with the design first than anything else. "And- well, well, well... Hugo? Come here and have a look. Does that one ship say what I think it says on the rudder?"

Hugo squinted through the scope. "Dunno," he said. "Do you think it says JAP 5974?"

"Yep." Tom glanced at the rest of us. "Anyone here the least bit surprised?"

As we shook our heads, a new noise started from somewhere I couldn't pinpoint. It was an odd sort of tinkling, vaguely familiar-

I came to my feet. "I believe we've got guests," I said, gesturing to the others for silence. For a moment the noise stopped, but it started again almost as quickly.

"Fairies," said Hugo. Miss Poppins nodded.

Lord Peter blanched. "Tell me they didn't bring Helen!"

They hadn't, of course. They were in the galley- and they'd found the whiskey again. Bunter was about as pleased to see them this time as he had been in England. Is there a word for the kind of enjoyment you know you shouldn't be getting out of a situation? He really did look like a man whose limits were under heavy fire, and it was all I could do not to laugh at the sight.

That was unworthy of me. I shouldn't have written that.

I left the galley fairly quickly. Prince doesn't get along well with anything that tries to pull his ears or tail, and he's taken a liking to Toto. He started growling when several of the fairies tried to get at Toto's bowl. I didn't want to think of what would happen if he tried to eat one of them, so I led him away and let the others deal with our stowaways. For now, I'm waiting in the observation area. It's safer here.


	32. Jack

Day Forty-Three / First Day in Oz  
The Winkie Country, Oz  
Late Evening

When Dorothy and the others came back from the galley, I was looking out the window towards the rear of the dirigible. I'd spotted movement below that didn't really look mechanical. If I didn't know better, I would've sworn it was some kind of African antelope, speeding about on the margins of the desert- at least, that's the only animal I'd seen at the zoo that had quite that look to it. Dorothy borrowed Tom's scope, though. Apparently it was the Wheelers, dressed in very different clothing than usual- drab, dusty brown. What they were doing couldn't be made out, but she said there was no way they could be anything else.

We didn't see them for very long, though. Our course took us over the Desert proper, away from their territory. After some discussion in the galley, Miss Poppins had decided that we'd make for the Winkie Country first, on the chance that the Tin Man or the Scarecrow might be found there. That meant swinging around to skirt Oz proper until we came into the western quarter. I suppose I might've appreciated the view if our circumstances were different. As it stood, the most I can really say is that desert isn't much to look at from above. Maybe if it weren't the sort of desert that kills anything that sets foot on it, the view would've been different.

Eventually, the desert gave way to forest. I say 'forest' because it was composed of trees; if I hadn't known what to expect I wouldn't have recognised the sight at all. Even knowing that everything in the Winkie Country was supposed to be yellow, I still barely realised what I was looking at. There's yellow and then there's yellow, if you know what I mean. I'd been expecting a more natural sort of colour. Willow leaves turn a perfectly acceptable shade of yellow in the autumn, and the maples that don't turn flaming red do the same thing. Wheat fields are more of a golden brown, but it's still close enough to gold to qualify as yellow, too.

At least, that's what I thought before the Winkie Country came into sight. The cluster of ugly grey buildings squatting at the border between the Winkie Country and the desert was the only thing that wasn't ... you know, I can't even describe that yellow. The best I can do is say that it was as yellow as my tunic is red. Next to that yellow forest, the Prufrock buildings stood out like the few remaining buildings in Dawson City the day after the Fire. They had to have been Prufrock's work, there was no question of that. Even if they hadn't looked completely wrong in the landscape below, there was one inescapable fact about them. I think it occurred to all of us, but it was Tom who said it aloud:

"Those look just like the port buildings Prufrock had in Glasgow."

It didn't make much sense at first (no water, after all), but there were those sand-ships to contend with. Probably they pulled up to the port buildings and loaded and unloaded in exactly the same way as a ship in Glasgow would've done. The job defines what's needed of a building, after all, no matter where in the world you are. True, these buildings didn't seem likely to house more Mermaid Queens, but the rest of their functions were probably the same.

Needless to say, we didn't want to be noticed by whoever was working down there. Cranston circled the blimp around further and took us in over that impossibly yellow forest. I don't know if any of the countries in Oz have ever had a proper autumn or winter. I doubt it, from what the books say of the spell that keeps this place from aging like the civilized countries. All I know is that everything we saw- trees, clearings, vegetable farms, fields, houses- was the same brilliant yellow, whatever season it might've been below. The only exception was the occasional streak of grey or black, where the Prufrock people had slapped down a strip of some kind of tarmac.

Dorothy had stopped looking angry by this time- it was a long trip, after all. I didn't like her look any better now, though. With anger, you know where you stand. With as blank a face as she had, anything might happen. She hadn't said a word since spotting the Wheelers. All she'd done was pace a little and look out the windows. I was just about to ask her what she was thinking when she stopped next to one of the windows and let out a cry of, "Pumpkins!"

"Excuse me?" said Tom, who'd been about to go relieve Cranston at the helm.

Dorothy pointed out the window. Sure enough, we were passing over a field of rows upon rows of pumpkins. The otherwise yellow field (thankfully, a more natural shade of yellow than those trees) stretched out behind a yellow pumpkin-shaped house that looked like it could've done with a few solid weeks of work to put things right. We were flying low enough that I could make out another, smaller field nearby, peppered with upright stones. I knew what those were, all right. According to the books, there was only one place in Oz that had any need for them. "Gravestones," I murmured.

Hugo, who had Tom's scope and was frowning at the two fields, looked over at me. "Sorry?"

I pointed. "Am I right? Are those things gravestones?"

"It looks like it. That's strange- I thought nobody died in Oz?"

"They don't," said Dorothy, standing on tiptoe and cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better look. "That's just for the heads."

"Heads," repeated Hugo, a peculiar look crossing his face.

"Heads, Mr. Danner," said Miss Poppins. She cast a glance of her own out the window. "I believe that this calls for a stop."

Dorothy picked up the rolled-up carpet as Cranston brought the dirigible's engines to a halt. As she started towards the hatch, I looked out the window one more time. It might've been Jack Pumpkinhead's home once, but Heaven only knew what it might be hiding now...

I knew the Belt would keep her from being harmed. And the thing was this: I didn't care. It might still be dangerous. Somehow I doubted the Belt could do much if she were knocked off the carpet. Or worse- what if she landed successfully, but Jack's house were full of Prufrock soldiers? Soldiers with orders to capture, instead of trying to kill? No; no, I wasn't going to let her go out there alone. Not if I had anything to say about it. And I did.

"Dorothy," I said, "I'm coming with you."

I don't think anyone expected that. There was a moment of silence, and then the arguments broke out, but- well. I let them argue. Miss Poppins could sort it out. I helped Dorothy roll out the carpet and waited for Hugo to open the hatch. Fortunately, the carpet was big enough that I didn't have to look down for long. Dorothy got aboard the carpet first. I sat down behind her- it might've been strong enough to hold me up, but I didn't trust the winds beneath the blimp- and waited.

Miss Poppins finally nodded. Dorothy took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at me. "Ready, Mr. Preston?"

"I think so, Dorothy."

And we were off.

The winds really were fierce, and I've been out in some of the worst storms the Yukon can throw at a man. I suppose it makes a difference, being hundreds of feet above the ground. Whatever wizard or witch had made the carpet did a splendid job- it hardly seemed to notice the winds whipping around us. I don't think its fringe was even flapping much. Silly thing to think about, I know, but it was better than thinking of just how high up we were.

Dorothy leaned sideways a little, and the carpet started to circle downwards. As we turned over the roof of Jack's house, something caught my eye: a gangly figure of brown wood, a single blob of orange at its top. "Dorothy?" I yelled (had to- even at this height, the winds were too much for anything quieter). "Is that Jack there?"

"I b'lieve so, Mr. Preston! Jack! Jack!"

The gangly wooden figure below us shaded his eyes with one hand for a moment, then staggered back a few paces. Gripping his pitchfork as if it were a spear, he called back: "Who's there?"

"It's me!" she cried. "It's Dorothy!"

"Dorothy?"

"Yes!"

"But you're dead!"

"I'm not!"

"But-" If a face carved into a pumpkin can look crestfallen, this one did. "But you've been dead for years," Jack said.

"I haven't been," Dorothy answered, "not even a little bit." She sighed, looking at me. Below us, Jack just shook his head mournfully. "It's me!" she tried again. "Jack, it's me, Dorothy!"

He hefted the pitchfork again. "You're dead," he insisted.

"No, I'm not! Jack-"

"If you're not dead," Jack said, "then where've you been?"

Drawing herself up straight, Dorothy answered, "I've been in stasis!"

It's funny, how such a little thing can strike you. I'd been the one to explain that word to her. She'd understood. And she'd taken that understanding to heart, even gone past what I'd told her- well, I don't quite know what to say, except that just then I don't think I could have been more proud of her for that understanding if she'd been my own daughter.

Unfortunately, Jack didn't feel the same way. A crestfallen pumpkin is one thing, but a bewildered one is quite another. Jack was staring at us blankly, so I leaned over and waved. "Hello there, Jack."

Jack Pumpkinhead hasn't got eyelids, just a carved face, so I suppose he's always staring. Still, the way he looked at me was a lot more like a human way of staring than anything I'd seen so far. "You're the biggest Quadling I've ever seen," he said, sounding a little shocked.

It took a minute to realize what he meant. The Winkies wear yellow, the Munchkins blue, the Quadlings red- and I was in uniform. I almost laughed as I answered him. "That's because I'm not from Oz. I'm from a country called Canada."

"Where's that?"

Dorothy's eyes went wide and she shook her head, but I'd already started speaking. "It's one of the civilized countries-"

"Civilized?" Jack snarled, jabbing the pitchfork upwards.

Too late, I realized my mistake: the Prufrocks came from the civilized countries too. "It's Canada!" I said quickly. "It's not that kind of civilization!"

Fortunately for both of us, Dorothy picked that moment to speak again. "It's all right, Jack! He's a friend!"

Jack tilted his head just as if he hadn't seen her at all. "Dorothy?"

"That's right!"

"But you're dead!"

I don't think I've ever seen her look that frustrated. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked down at Jack again. "Jack, when was the last time you changed your head?"

"... You're you," the figure below us finally said, and trudged off into the house.

Dorothy glanced at me, looking a little relieved. "He'll be all right in a bit."

"I don't remember him being like that in any of the books."

"Oh, it's just his head. He's worn it too long to be healthy. He'll be all right once he changes it," she assured me.

A few moments later we touched down. As I stepped onto solid ground again, Jack emerged from his house, his pumpkin head looking a good deal fresher and newer. "Dorothy?" he asked. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Jack," she said, "it really is."

For a moment he looked like he was going to touch the ground- but no. No, Jack Pumpkinhead was seven feet tall, which meant he had to bend down low if he was going to hold out his arms to a gleeful Dorothy. She hugged him, smiling, and beckoned me over. "Mr. Preston, this is Jack Pumpkinhead. Jack, this is Mr. Frank Preston; he's a policeman in his country, and my friend."

I stuck out my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Jack," I said.

He looked down at the hand for a second before shaking it. I'm not sure he knew what he was supposed to do. I imagine there's not much call for handshakes in the Winkie Country. Regardless, Dorothy looked happy. "He's here to help, and so are the rest of my friends." She pointed at the blimp as Jack obediently looked up. "Only we don't know all that's happened yet."

Jack nodded. "A lot of things've happened, Dorothy," he said mournfully.

"Could you tell us about them? Once you've buried your head, I mean?"

He nodded again as he started towards the field of tombstones. There were an awful lot of them, and the space was very small, but you don't really need much room to bury a pumpkin. The head Jack had been wearing when we saw him from the carpet sat to one side. Next to it was one of his tombstones, which was already carved with the words 'Here Lies The Mortal Part of JACK PUMPKINHEAD, Which Spoiled'. As he started to etch the date into the stone, he asked, "Are you going to land your flying house on the people who burned down the Emerald City, Dorothy?"

She gave a little start at Jack's words, and a look of shock went over her face. It vanished almost immediately, turning into a thoughtful frown. Eventually, she said, "Yes... I rather believe I will."

"That's good," said Jack, who had finished carving the date.

We buried the old head without much ceremony, and Dorothy demonstrated the flying carpet for Jack. There was more than enough room for the three of us, although Jack seemed to find the whole thing very awkward. I didn't blame him, of course. Dorothy had a good hand with the carpet and the ride up to the dirigible went smoothly, but we were still sitting on nothing but a piece of flying cloth, and that's not an easy thing for anyone to bear.

- CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE -


	33. The Things You Learn By Asking

- CONTINUED FROM PRIOR PAGE -   
  
I don't know which of us was more grateful to see the dirigible's hatch open above us. I climbed up first, so as to help Dorothy in. Hugo came forward- he'd been watching through Tom's 'scope, and so had an idea of our guest's size. I don't believe the others did, though, if their sudden silence was anything to go by. Then again, not too many people can think of much at all to say upon meeting a seven-foot-tall pumpkin-headed man. Tom stared, Lord Peter blinked and fished for his monocle, and Cranston- well- that's a nasty twitch he's getting under his eye. Miss Poppins, of course, was a perfect lady, stepping forward to greet Jack. 

Being the focus of everyone's attention had turned him shy- he didn't say much beyond a quiet "Hello there". It was up to Dorothy to introduce him around, which helped a bit. Bunter tore himself away from the galley long enough to find a chair that fit the poor fellow. Jack settled into it with a sigh as Dorothy filled everyone else in on the situation. I think Jack was a little put off by Lord Peter's curiosity about his state, though it's difficult to read a face like Jack's. He just sat uncomfortably and nodded until Dorothy turned to him.

"I know I've been away an awf'ly long time, Jack," she said very seriously, "but why did you think I was dead?"

Jack sighed, elbows on his knees. "Well," he said in a low, hollow voice, "the grey men came, you see. They said they were from the outside world, like you. And they said you were dead."

"**And you believed them?**" Dorothy cried, incredulous.

He flinched back at that. "Well- yes-"

"Would you have believed the Nome King, Jack?"

"They had one of the Silver Slippers, Dorothy. They said you'd found it before you died."

Dorothy winced. I was listening, of course, but only partly. You see, it had occurred to me that the Nome King could very easily have been part of the whole problem. To the best of my knowledge, he was the only person who'd ever successfully invaded Oz before this. Even after his encounter with the Fountain of Oblivion, he'd kept up a vendetta against the Emerald City- against the entire surface world, really. If anyone had both means and motive to throw in his lot with the Prufrocks, it was him. "Jack," I asked, "where is the Nome King, anyway? Do you know?"

"Oh, the grey men took him first," Jack answered. "Along with the entire Nome kingdom. They made the Nomes their slaves first, before they did anything else. Did you know magic could be mined? I didn't."

Tom choked back an exclamation at that. I'm sure Lord Wims Lord Peter was about to say something, but Tom recovered first. "Dorothy," he said tensely, "when did Glinda figure out that things like your Belt worked in our world?"

"Why- just before the Wizard and I went to look for the Slippers. About four years ago."

He nodded and turned to Jack. "When did the grey men first come?"

Jack scratched his head near the stem, thinking. "About four years ago, I think," he said at last. "I don't really know."

Tom nodded grimly and looked to the rest of us. "There's our answer," he said. "That's what's been going on. I'll bet any money you like that they've been mining magic here in Oz and exporting it for use in our world. If they've got exported magic, they can make magic artifacts work just as well as scientific ones."

"Hard to fight an enemy who uses weapons you scarcely believe exist," murmured Lord Peter.

"So Prufrock was telling the truth in Glasgow." Cranston had the look of a man proved right against his wishes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, "They aren't making war on England- they're making war on the world."

"Where does Neverland come into it, though?" Hugo wondered. "I mean- they had the star charts to get there. D'you suppose they were behind the pirates?"

"Well, maybe-"

Miss Poppins cleared her throat very quietly. It was a small noise, but an effective one; the rest of the men went silent. "One thing at a time, gentlemen," she said. "Let Mr. Pumpkinhead finish."

Jack ducked his head uncomfortably. "Well, I-"

"You said they burned down the Emerald City, Jack," Dorothy said. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, quite a while ago. After they took the Nome Kingdom. No one's seen Ozma since then, either," he added, anticipating what was going to be her next question.

"What about the rest of Oz, then?" she asked, taking one of his hands. "Where's the Tin Woodsman, and the Scarecrow- where's Glinda, do you know?"

"I don't know, Dorothy. I'm sorry. I haven't heard from the Scarecrow in months, or the Woodsman, or even Jinjur. Glinda's in the Quadling country as far as anyone knows." He glanced at me again, but kept going. "She's keeping the resistance against the grey men alive, but she has to do it from hiding. The only time anyone hears from her is when she sends messages, or when the Cowardly Lion comes back from visiting her, and he won't tell anyone where she is. Just in case the grey men take them, you know."

"The Lion?" Dorothy exclaimed. "He's all right? Where is he? Oh, can you take us to him?"

"I don't know where he is right now, Dorothy. Nobody does. He and the Hungry Tiger are in the wilderness somewhere, with the rest of the animals. They come around about once a week, maybe once every ten days. It's been a few days since I saw the Lion last."

"Oh, we've got to see him, Miss Poppins, we've just got to!" Dorothy dropped Jack's hand and turned to face her. "If anybody can help us-"

"It won't work," said Jack quietly. "You'd have to find him first."

"Well- can't we find him? Or at least try?"

"He won't let you. The beasts of the forest don't let anyone from outside find him and the Hungry Tiger, you see."

"But-"

"It's all right, Dorothy," I said, stepping forward. "We can still find him. At least, I think we can."

"But how?" Dorothy asked. Jack looked as if he wanted to ask the same thing.

I'm not much good at what you'd call a 'poker face', but I can hold one when I try. Long enough to whistle for assistance, anyway. At first, nothing happened. I was about to call out again when the room's door opened and a very familiar face poked in. "Yes?" Prince asked politely, his ears pricked forward.

"Prince, old boy," I said, "I believe we've got a job for you. And Toto, too, if he'll help you with it."

His tail was wagging as he trotted up to me. "Of course," he said, tongue lolling out. If that wasn't his idea of smiling, I don't know what would be. "What is it?"

"We need you and Toto to find a couple of very big cats. D'you remember the smell of the lions at the London Zoo?"

"Yes. You are looking for the girl's friends?"

"That's right," I said, scratching him lightly behind the ears. "Dorothy, do you think Toto-"

"Of course I'll help!" The little terrier had come in after Prince, unnoticed. "Dorothy, what do you need me to do?"

She laughed. I believe it was the first I'd heard her laugh since before we came to Oz, and even though our situation was pretty grim, it did the heart good to hear it. "Just go with Prince, Toto," she said. "Help him find the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, and bring them back to us if you can, all right?"

"Wait a minute, Dorothy," said Tom. He was looking at my dog, with a peculiar intensity in his face. "I have an idea. Where'd we put the wireless?" Hugo passed him one; he nodded. "All right. It's a little big for Toto, but I think- Sergeant, mind if I borrow your dog?"

"Ask him yourself, Tom."

"Um- yeah. Prince, c'mere, would you?"

"Why?" Prince asked warily, his gaze on the thing in Tom's hand.

"Because I want to see if I can rig this up to fit your head. If I just make a few changes, you'll be able to talk to the Sergeant and he'll be able to talk to you, even if you're out of sight in the woods."

Prince looked up at me, the question in his eyes. I nodded, and he went off with Tom. Cranston, to his credit, only shook his head a little bit. "I'm going to assume it's time to land the dirigible?" he asked Miss Poppins.

"As long as Mr. Pumpinkhead has no objections, since we'll have to put it down near his home."

"What?"

"Mr. Cranston needs to land the flying house, Jack," Dorothy explained. "Can we put it near yours, if we promise not to break it?"

"I- well- all right."

"Thank you," said Cranston, and vanished.

Moments later, we began circling downwards. By the time we'd landed properly, Tom was done with his jury-rigged wireless. He'd arranged it so that Prince could speak into a part of the mouthpiece separated by a length of pipe, but hadn't quite made his case to Prince as to why it was needed. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Sergeant," he said as he handed me the receiving unit.

"Well, I'll try." I crouched down to Prince's level. "What's the matter, fella?"

"I do not like that thing," he said bluntly. "It sits heavy on my head and it talks into my ear. I can hardly hear anything else with that thing in the way."

"I'm sorry, Prince," I said. "I know it's uncomfortable, but I need you to wear it for me. I'm going to need you to track down the Lion, and I won't be able to follow you right away. Remember when I made you wear that little signal light? So you could show me the way to that cave outside Dawson, where those men were holding the woman and her dog team prisoner?"

"Yes."

"You won't even have to wear this thing as long as you wore the light. As soon as you've found the Lion, you can speak into it and let me know, and I'll come to you and take it off."

He heaved a sigh, dropping his head. "Then I will find the Lion quickly," he said, in a tone so dejected and yet so determined that I had to laugh.

"It's not that bad, Prince! It'll only be a little while, I promise." I got an arm around his neck and ruffled his fur. "You'll be fine. Now, take Toto out there and find the Lion for us. Tell him who we are, and call for me. I'll come get you and take that thing off just as soon as we've found him, but you have to put it on first."

Prince nodded, and let me strap the device on. He shook his head a little afterwards, but only to test the fit. "What else must I do?" he asked me, ignoring Tom completely.

"Just go outside of the dirigible and speak into the thing," I said. "I want to make sure this works before you go into the woods with Toto."

He nodded, loping off through the door that Dorothy held open. A few moments later the wireless in my hand crackled. "Sergeant," said Prince's voice, "can you hear me?"

"Your dog calls you 'Sergeant'?" Tom asked.

"Everyone calls me 'Sergeant'." I shrugged, and pressed the button. "Yes, Prince. Loud and clear."

It crackled again. "Good. Please, send Toto out? I would like to find the Lion as soon as we can."

Toto hardly needed the encouragement. He shot out the door like a furry little bullet. We filed out after him, even Jack, and watched as the two dogs vanished into the yellow underbrush.

"Are you sure this is such a wise idea, Sergeant?"

"Oh yes, Cranston. I'm sure. Prince is the best tracker in the whole of the North Country. I'd be willing to bet there isn't a dog in Canada who could beat him."

"This isn't Canada. And our new companion said the Cowardly Lion doesn't want to be found," he pointed out.

"Neither did the people Prince and I trailed back home."

"True enough." He squinted upwards. "It's getting dark, though."

"Doesn't mean much to a dog-"

My handset made a buzzing noise. "Sergeant?"

"I'm here, Prince," I said immediately.

"Toto says we are very close. The trail is old, but used often." He paused. "By many beasts."

"Anything dangerous?"

"Bears," said Prince's voice. "Wolves."

I thought for a moment. Most of the animals of Oz were pretty close to civilized, when it came right down to it, but they never really said exactly how the meat-eaters went about feeding themselves. "Be careful, Prince," I said. "How far in are you?"

"Many strides. I did not count, but-" Another pause. "The trail is marked."

I was careful not to look at Dorothy as he said that. "Ah- marked how?"

"Claws. On trees." It almost sounded as if he were about to laugh. "You cannot smell the other marks I would make."

Someone did laugh at that, though I'm not sure who. I just smiled, relieved. "Good boy, Prince. Is the trail coming any clearer?"

He was silent for a while. Then: "Yes." There was barking in the background. "Toto says he has found fresh tracks-"

As the dogs continued to work their way into the woods, I looked over at Tom. "What's the range on this thing?"

"A few hundred yards- I haven't had time to work up a proper power source, or it'd be longer."

That wasn't especially comforting, given that it was starting to get dark in earnest. I tried the handset again. "Prince?"

The next sound out of the handset was a low growl. I've heard my dog make that noise before. It's not a good one. "Prince," I said immediately, "what's going on?"

"There are-"

The handset suddenly squealed and went silent. I didn't hear much after that- I was jamming that button with both thumbs for all I was worth. "Prince! Prince, can you hear me?"

Nothing at all, even after I remembered that I had to let go of the button. "What did that mean?" I asked, turning to Tom. "That squeal?"

"Means the microphone is too close to the audio receiver, usually."

"But it wasn't before, was it?"

"No. Something must've-"

"I don't mean to interrupt you, Tom, but that's my dog out there. Along with whatever it is that just grabbed your wireless. Miss Poppins, I'm going to have to-"

"No you're not," she said, bringing me up short.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not," she said quite firmly, stepping forward. The last light of sunset was very nearly gone. "We are. This is a team, after all."

I could just about have kissed her then, but it wouldn't have been proper at all. "Thank you," I said. "Did anyone bring a torch, or a lantern?"

By the way the others started patting down their pockets, I knew right away that we weren't going to have any answers of 'yes'. I thought for a moment, then dashed back into the blimp anyway. The galley was exactly as we'd left it- a royal mess, despite Bunter's best efforts, and covered in glowing, sodden fairies. Where Bunter'd got to I don't know, but it made my job easier. The fairies had found a bottle of something alcoholic and drunk the contents dry; there was even one fairy still inside, giggling and bobbing its head unevenly. I found the stopper and closed the bottle up, though not too tightly, and pulled the cord from my hat. Should've brought rope, I suppose, but I'd been so busy preparing for the trip by arming myself that rope had slipped my mind.

There are plenty of sticks outside long enough to tie to my makeshift little lantern. I've got my gun, my skinning knife, and my hatchet. Whatever's taken my dog is in for a very bad time.


	34. Loyalty

Day Forty-Three / First Night in Oz  
The Winkie Country, Oz  
Night

The Yellow Woods of the Winkie Country are a tangled, mucky mess, more like the forests of the southern United States than anything back in Canada. My jarred fairy's light was pretty bright, but one look at those trees told me right away that it would be slow going. Given that everyone else wanted to come along- well. If I'd had any other choice I would have gone straight in by myself. Trackless wilderness isn't a good place to try and keep a group together.

Dorothy asked to hold the 'lantern'. I didn't like the idea of letting go, but after a little thought it turned out to be a pretty good idea. As long as she held the light steady, it would be easier for me to find Prince's claw marks- and there was the matter of Toto. In her shoes I would've wanted to contribute anything I could. I gave her the stick without a protest.

We were just about to leave when Miss Poppins took a close look at the fairy in the bottle. The woman's got a 'tsk' more disapproving than a circuit rider in a gambling house. She said very little about the fairy's condition, but she did insist on passing it a slice of lemon before closing up the bottle once more. "To sober her up," she explained. "The last thing we need is a violently ill fairy as our light."

With that, we were off into the woods.

Prince's trail wasn't the easiest I've ever had to follow, but it wasn't the hardest by any means. He'd been trying to leave a trail, after all. That meant good clear footprints anywhere he could manage, claw marks on trees as he'd promised, and the occasional tuft of fur where he'd been forced to rub up against something rough. Toto didn't leave nearly as many marks, of course, but since the two dogs were together I didn't worry too much about that. I was more concerned with the sheer amount of noise we were making. This was a forest full of hostile animals, after all- animals which had managed to get the better of an extremely canny dog. The crunching, snapping noises made by Hugo alone... well, it wasn't as if we had the advantage of surprise to begin with. Still, it seemed disrespectful somehow. A man ought to do what he can to avoid disrupting even as alien a forest as this.

I suppose it was thoughts like that one that distracted me. We had reached the edge of a small clearing in the woods. I was examining one of Prince's claw marks in the light of the fairy 'lantern', and I heard something crunch behind me. I assumed it was Danner- he'd taken up the point position on Dorothy's left, since I was on her right- and didn't turn to see. There was a rustle of cloth from further back- Cranston, maybe, or Tom. I started to stand up-

And, with an enormous roar, something flung itself out of the woods at Hugo. In the next moment there was another roar, and I found myself pinned to the ground by what must've been four hundred pounds of- well, something large, furry, and incredibly angry. From that close up I couldn't see much but the underside of its throat. Even if I could have, the first thing was to get out from underneath it- I could barely breathe under that crushing weight. It stank, like a dog that's been rolling on a moose carcass, and its growl was the loudest I've ever heard. It flashed through my head that Prince had said 'bears'; I tried to get an arm free, but the beast's claws started to dig in-

There was yelling. "It's me! It's Dorothy! It's me!"

The growling broke off in a brief, surprised whine. The creature suddenly bounded away. When I rolled over and propped myself up enough to see what was going on I could scarcely believe my eyes. Our 'lantern' had gone flying, and Dorothy had disappeared under masses of tawny and striped fur. I started to reach for my revolver-

And stopped. One tawny beast, one striped, and she'd introduced herself- why, that had to be the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger!

I stepped back a pace and started checking for broken ribs. At least, I tried to. I hadn't been the only one to bring weapons to Oz; Cranston had his guns out, and Tom already had one of the electric rifles to his face. I shook my head. "It's all right. They're friends."

"What?"

"Ever seen how kittens greet each other?"

And that's just what it looked like, really. Much larger, to be sure, and a lot louder, but they really did look like a pair of excited kittens. Reluctantly, Tom lowered the rifle. Cranston didn't put his guns down until the big cats backed off, still rumbling, to reveal a slightly scuffed but unharmed- and very happy- Dorothy.

"It's all right," she said, beaming like a sunrise. "We've found them."

There was a lot of sniffing and more than a few introductions after that. And apologies, of course. "I hope I didn't hurt you," said the Hungry Tiger, who'd been the one to jump me. His voice was very light and mellow, for a cat his size. "I had no idea you were Dorothy's friend. I wouldn't have gone for you if I did, my conscience wouldn't let me, but we thought you were with the grey men."

"It's all right," I told him. Something screeched overhead; I looked up and saw the trees had begun to fill with monkeys. "You had no way of knowing, after all. That's why we sent the dogs."

The Tiger nodded. "When we saw the thing on the big one's head- well, we thought for sure he must've been with the grey men. It was their kind of thing."

"Yes... speaking of which, where is my dog? Is he all right?"

The Tiger gestured with one paw to the edge of the clearing and stepped away to inspect Lord Peter. There was very little light left by then, since it seemed someone had released our fairy to buzz around in disgust at being used for a beacon, but there was enough to see the gleam of eyes. I counted at least a score of wolves in the mirk, though there might've been more just out of sight. Then Prince stepped forward, head high and tail higher. "I am all right, Sergeant," he said calmly. "They have not hurt me."

He stepped forward, holding his muzzle a little higher. One of the wolves growled at him. Without blinking an eye he whirled on the beast, teeth bared and snapping. It yelped, scrambling back to the safety of its pack; Prince sniffed and turned away, stalking to my side and pushing his head against my leg. "Sorry about that, boy," I murmured as I dropped down to ruffle his neck fur properly. "I never dreamed they'd attack you."

"As I said, they did not hurt me." No doubt he was trying to sound unconcerned, but his voice was still just a little bit shaky. Facing down twenty wolves alone is more than I'd ask of any dog. "And they took the thing on my head. Do I have to wear another?"

I laughed. "No, Prince. You don't. You did everything I asked. I'd say you've earned a respite- as soon as we're done here I'll take you back to the dirigible and bring you dinner. Sound good?"

His ears splayed, and he licked my hand. "Very good," he agreed. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Prince. You did all the hard work here."

"And Toto, too-"

"Yes, Toto too. Where is he?"

Prince jerked his muzzle across the clearing. "With the girl, and the Lion."

"...yes, they did," the Cowardly Lion was saying. "I don't know where they got it from, but the men who came saying you were dead really did have one of the Silver Slippers."

Even in the wavering glow from the fairy (who'd settled on Miss Poppins' shoulder), I could see Dorothy's lips going thin and white.

The Tiger nodded at the Lion's words. "I et a couple of 'em," he added, licking his chops.

"Good for you!" That was Cranston's voice, which didn't surprise me - but it was Dorothy's, too. And that worried me. I expected savage sentiments from a man like the Shadow, but Dorothy? Yes, it'd been less than twenty-four hours since the castle in Ev. Yes, that was too short a time for anyone to put such horrors from their mind. Even taking that into account, she sounded too... enthusiastic. If she'd been a man, I'd have been tempted to take her into custody for her own good, to prevent her from going off looking for revenge.

The Lion's tail swished behind him. "The men marched on the Emerald City not too long after that," he said. "Everyone saw them coming, of course. Omby Amby called up everyone he could to help with the Army of Oz, and Billina led the Emerald City's animals, but-" He shook his great, maned head.

"But what?" asked Tom, who had shouldered his rifle.

"The grey men had a box as big as a house, and it moved on wheels. I wasn't close enough to see it myself, but some of the other animals told me what happened." He heaved a sigh. "There were things in the box, and when the Army of Oz came out to fight the grey men, the things started singing- magic songs. Horrible ones."

Hugo winced, catching Tom's eye. Miss Poppins' eyes narrowed. "Go on," she said to the Lion.

He sighed again. "The magic songs made the army march right up and into the box," he said. "It was terrible."

"Whatever it was in that box," the Tiger added quietly, "it didn't have no conscience to keep it from eating those men."

The most uncomfortable silence I've ever heard followed the Hungry Tiger's words. It was Cranston who broke it, by asking, "What about you? Did the animals try to fight back?"

"Oh yes," said the Cowardly Lion. "we did- at first. But the grey men didn't just have the box. They had twenty or thirty sticks that spat rocks at us-"

"Rocks?"

"Well- very small stones- very, very fast, again and again and again without stopping. It was awful. Nothing we could do could stop them."

"What about Glinda?" Dorothy burst out. "Where is she? Can't she do something?"

"She's away down south, Dorothy," said the Lion. "In the Quadling country. It's not safe to travel so far any more. Even the Yellow Brick Road's dangerous these days, although it's the safest place anyone can be any more."

"But you go there, right? You've seen her?"

Both the Tiger and the Lion nodded.

Dorothy was fairly vibrating with the tension as she exclaimed, "Oh, we've just got to go see her, we've got to! Can you take us to her, please?"

The Tiger exchanged a long glance with the Lion before finally sighing. "I'm sorry, Dorothy," he said. "I'm sure they're very good people if they're your friends, but we can't take that kind of chance."

"But-"

"We've only just met them," the Lion said. "It isn't allowed to bring strangers through to Glinda. Anything might happen."

"And if the grey men found out where she was hiding-"

"We know we can trust you, though."

Dorothy stared from the one to the other, hands trembling for real now. "I'm going," she said at last. A little more loudly, she added, "I've got to go with them-"

You could see it in her eyes: she wasn't thinking of anything beyond getting to Glinda. Even if that meant leaving us behind.

I couldn't let that happen.

With two strides I'd crossed the open space between the girl and myself. I put one hand on her shoulder and dropped down to look her in the eye. "Dorothy," I said, "listen to me."

She gave a sharp little start, blinking and looking at me with the most heartrending expression I'd seen yet. I'm not proud of what I did next; I know it was necessary, but that doesn't mean I have to be proud of it. There are ... there are ways of making words stick in a person's mind, phrases that work like setting a hook in a fish's jaw. It's one thing to use a trick like that on a criminal, or on a frightened witness- but it didn't seem right, somehow, to use such a trick on Dorothy. Still, I didn't think I had a choice.

"I know you don't want to hear what I'm about to say," I told her, as firmly as I could. "But I need you to hear it. Please. Listen."

"A- all right..."

Good. That meant it had worked, or at least started to. I nodded once, and continued. "I know you need to find Glinda. I know the Lion and the Tiger here would take you to her in a heartbeat if you asked. But we can't stay here without you. We don't have any way of reaching you, or you of reaching us- you'd be gone for weeks, or more, and we've got to stop these people just as much as you do. They've attacked Oz, and they've attacked Scotland- we don't know who they're going to go after next. We can't leave you behind, and we're no good in this country alone. You're as much a part of this team as any of us..."

Funny. I could almost see the frantic, desperate look draining from her eyes as I spoke.

"And there's something else, too." I nodded to the two big cats. "You heard what they said- about trusting us, and taking chances. If you leave with them, there won't be anybody left in Oz except than Jack Pumpkinhead who knows who we are. We need you here- for our own protection. All of us do..."

"Don't go, Dorothy," I said very quietly. "Please."

She stared back at me for several long, silent moments. Then she nodded, and I could breathe again.

"Thank you," I said. "You made the right choice."

"I hope so, Mr. Preston," she said soberly.

There wasn't much else I could do, so I smiled a little and murmured something (I don't remember what) before turning back to the others. Some of the tension had gone out of the air. "Well?" asked Miss Poppins.

"I- I still want to find Glinda," said Dorothy, "but Mr. Preston is right. I can't just go off and leave everyone, so I s'pose I'll stay."

Miss Poppins nodded. "Very good, Dorothy," she said. Then she raised her voice. Looking at the Lion and the Tiger, she said, "Will you excuse us, sirs? There are a few things I believe we need to discuss amongst ourselves."

"Of course," said the Lion, bowing with his front end. Miss Poppins dropped a curtsey in return, and we withdrew a little way through the forest.

When we were far enough from the clearing to avoid being overheard, Miss Poppins spoke again. "It seems, gentlemen, that the situation is more complicated than we knew when we started out."

"That's one way of putting it," murmured Lord Peter, who wasn't looking at all well. Come to think of it, he really hadn't looked right since- well, since Ev.

"Of course." She rested her hands on the handle of her umbrella. "The question now is- what do we do about it? Our mission remains the same as always; the question, now, is how to accomplish it. Clearly, the Prufrock threat is far, far greater than we had imagined..."

There were a few moments of silence at first. Then Cranston cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"It seems to me," said Cranston slowly, "that we're no longer investigating and protecting. We're on a war footing now- even if the rest of the British empire doesn't know it. And you can't fight a war with seven people, no matter how well they're armed."

There were a few murmurs of agreement- mostly from Lord Peter, and from Hugo. It made sense; according to our dossiers, they'd all fought in the Great War.

"Which would indicate," Cranston continued, "that what we need to do, if we're to keep Prufrock from spreading this war into our world, is choke them off at the root. I say we go back to our world and assemble whatever resources we can- then bring the battle to Prufrock."

"What sort of resources?" Miss Poppins asked. Her expression was neutral, but there was a calculating look in her eyes.

Cranston chuckled. There wasn't much humour in it. "I have a... sizable network of agents in America," he answered. "I can have weaponry, and men capable of using it, ready in a very short time. Among other things."

Miss Poppins nodded. "I agree. This mission requires more- from each of us- if it is to succeed."

Tom put up a hand. When Miss Poppins nodded to him, he said, "I can arrange for more of the electric rifles. I've also got one of my factories turning out mass quantities of synthetic peach extract. Looks like the mermaid repellent's going to come in handy after all. And I can try and get a message through to South America- don't know how useful that'll be, but it's worth a try."

"Very good," said Miss Poppins. Then she turned to me. "What about you, Sergeant?"

I don't know what I intended to say, really. My superior, Inspector Moore, is as skeptical as they come. Any kind of assistance at all would require me to convince him of the need, first- and that would require explanations. Whether he'd even be willing to listen, I didn't know.

But I didn't say any of that. I couldn't. Not once I'd looked down, trying to think, and found myself looking at Dorothy. I'd convinced her to listen to reason- and she'd had every reason in the world not to. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to convince Inspector Moore of the same thing despite the fantastic trappings of it all.

"There's a detachment of men at Fort Munn," I said. "It's not that far from Dawson. If we can get there reasonably quickly-"

"We can, Sergeant."

"All right. Then I can talk to my superior. I believe I should be able to convince him to let me have a body of men- and horses."

Miss Poppins smiled. "Excellent. And you two?"

She was looking at Lord Peter and Hugo. Lord Peter murmured something. I didn't hear what, but it seemed enough for Miss Poppins. As for Hugo, he gave an odd, twisted little smile and said, "I know some people, ma'am. I believe they'll be very interested in helping out."

"Mmm." She'd lifted an eyebrow, but seemed content to let things lie for the moment. "Very well, then. Dorothy?"

"Yes?"

"It looks as if we'll be going back to England, at least for a little bit, and then returning to Oz."

"It will be soon, won't it?" she asked, half pleading.

"As soon as we possibly can," said Miss Poppins. "We want to put a stop to this war nonsense as much as you do, but we've got to be in England in a week's time. The Wizard is coming to see you, after all."

Dorothy nodded, brightening a little. "That's so, isn't it? We should tell the Lion."

"Yes, we should. Why don't we go do that?"

The others started filing past towards the clearing, but I stayed where I was. Something had occurred to me: we'd left something out. No- not something. Someone. This wasn't a situation that affected human beings alone- not in Oz, certainly, but not on our side either. There were Toto and Prince to consider, too. And the idea of going to war in a land where animals were just as capable of speech and feeling and reason as men- well, that brought back all the same questions I'd had reading Bambi.

I've got far too many questions in my mind right now. I'm not going to wait for the answers any longer. Unless I've got the hour completely wrong, I believe I've got enough time to settle this matter once and for all.

I'm going to go talk to my dog.


	35. On Dogs, Revisited

Day Forty-Three / First Night in Oz  
The Winkie Country, Oz  
Late Night

Prince had been hanging about the edges of our tactical council, but hadn't said anything. He hadn't gone far- just far enough to find a spot open to the sky. I found him sitting on his haunches, gazing up at the moon. "Hello, Sergeant," he said without turning his head.

I was standing downwind of him, but I haven't met a White man yet who could move silently through a forest, and that includes myself. "Didn't mean to disturb you, old fellow," I said.

"That's all right." He turned his head a little, one eye looking at me. "We are going back?"

"Tomorrow, yes."

He dropped his muzzle briefly. When he spoke I realized it was a nod. "I see."

I hesitated; there was something odd in his tone of voice. At least, if he were a man, I would have said that. "We should have included you," I said. "I'm sorry."

Prince's tail swished from side to side in the yellow grass. "It is all right," he said, looking back up to the moon. "I would like to go home. It is very warm here."

This wasn't going to be easy. "Prince," I asked, "do, ah... d'you mind if I sit down?"

He shook his head, edging sideways to offer me a better spot on the ground. I settled down next to him. "Thank you."

He nodded again. "Of course," he said.

I didn't know what to say next. It's not every day a man tries to have a heart-to-heart talk with his dog- at least, not once he's past the age of twelve. And even a boy doesn't really expect his dog to answer. For a while, all I did was look up at the sky myself.

"There is something you want to say," came Prince's quiet voice.

"How can you tell?"

The grass swished under his tail. "You smell uncomfortable," he said simply. "And you sit like you do when someone has killed a man and his mate does not know it yet."

That made me smile. "I didn't know I was that predictable," I murmured.

"It is a habit, isn't it? Little Paws bites herself when she itches. White Ears tries to claw up the ground when he is nervous. You sit like that when you want to speak. It's the same thing."

"Little Paws- oh, on our dog team back home?"

"Yes."

"You would know, wouldn't you," I said slowly. "You've been with me long enough, after all."

He nodded. I glanced over at him. His eyes were still on the moon, but eyes don't mean as much to a dog as they do to a man, and his ears were tilted just a bit in my direction. I took a deep breath, and couldn't help but notice them tilt a little bit more. All right, he was listening, whether he showed it or not.

"Prince," I began, "I... "

And I stopped. How do you begin a conversation like that? Prince canted his head a little, curious.

Sighing, I shook my head. "Sorry, old boy," I said ruefully. "Too many words."

"Ah," said Prince. "It is like eating from many bowls."

"Excuse me?"

He glanced over at me. Since both of us were sitting on the ground, he hardly had to look up at all. "You have the words," he said, "but you cannot use them all. They are all good words, so you do not know which one to start with. It is like eating from many bowls, because you cannot choose."

"Well, yes- but if I don't speak, another man isn't going to come along and take the words away, is he?"

Prince's tongue lolled out in something like a smile. "That would be something to see," he said.

"I suppose it would, wouldn't it?"

"It would have to be the big man. The one you call Danner. I don't think the others could beat you in a fight."

I laughed, and Prince wagged his tail. "I suppose you're right, fella. I might just as well pick a place to start."

He closed his mouth then, but there was still something of a smile about him. "Then start. I am listening."

"All right." Another deep breath. "It's like this, Prince... back home, dogs are- well, they're dogs. They're smart, or they're dumb, or they're like you, but no matter what, they're dogs."

Prince rolled his head from side to side. "We are still dogs here," he pointed out. "Although Toto is small enough that I could eat him in two bites."

"You're not going to, are you?"

His tongue lolled out again, and I got a very definite feeling that he was having a joke at my expense. "It would not be right. Dogs should not eat each other. And the girl would miss him."

It seemed like an opening. "Yes, she would," I said. "Just like I would miss you, if anything had happened when you went looking for the Lion."

Prince nodded. "I know," he said calmly.

"Is that important to you?" I asked.

His head jerked up at that, eyes wide as he stared at me. "Yes!" he all but barked.

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes!" He came to his feet. "This is a stupid question. I do not want to hear it any more."

"I'm... sorry, Prince. I didn't think it would bother you."

He snorted, refusing to look at me. "You are my human," he said, gazing fixedly off into the woods. "You have always been my human. You should know this."

"I'm not a dog, Prince, I don't know how it is for you-"

"You should know," he repeated. The fur along his back was almost standing on end. "Of all humans, you should know. I do not believe that you do not know."

What was I supposed to say to that? I sat back in silence, watching him. Every line of him was taut, tense. He looked like he wanted to bolt, or pounce. As if there were something chasing him and he didn't know whether to fight or flee. In the end the effect was the same: he stayed nailed to the spot, bristling.

Eventually, he spoke. His voice was low, on the edge of growling. "When I was a puppy," he said, "a man came and looked at all of us. My mother was afraid of him. She said he would take us away. Then my father came up to the fence and spoke. It was my father who told us what would happen, that he would give us to men when we were old enough. He said some men were cruel and bad. He said some men were kind, and would take care of us, but make us pull heavy loads and sleep in the cold. And he said that his man was the best any dog could ever ask for."

I stared at him. "That was... Your father was Duke. My lead dog."

"Yes. Duke." Prince looked sharply at me. "You fed him, he said. You kept him with you, always close to you, and talked to him like you did to men. When he was hurt you bandaged him. When men said bad things about dogs you barked them down, because of him. You took care of him before you took care of yourself. You were his human. He said he was glad, because you treated him like a human, and that was good."

"He was my lead dog, though," I pointed out. "He had to work as hard as the other dogs-"

"You work hard for your pack, too," Prince said.

"Excuse me?"

"The people you guard? You work hard for them, to keep them safe. Men have tried to kill you but you still work for them. Your people are your pack, yes?"

"It's not quite like that."

"It is enough." Prince started to pace in a slow circle. "Everything you do is for the pack. My father said this. He was right. I have seen that."

I shook my head slowly. Prince went on. "He said that you would come, and you would take one of us. You would teach us things and make us work hard, but you would be good to us. He said we should be glad to be your dog, because you would always take care of us, and so we should always take care of you."

"I've always tried to do that. For all my dogs."

"Yes." Prince stopped pacing, looking to me again. "But especially to my father, and to me."

"Well ... yes."

"That is why," he said softly. "That is why it is important. I do not want anyone to hurt you, ever. In the place of the burned people you were in danger. They would have torn you apart. I would have torn out their throats for you."

He said it so matter-of-factly.

"The people who have come to this land have done things that make you angry. If they can, they will kill you. I do not want that to happen."

"Because I'm your human?"

"Because you are you, and because you are my human. You would not let them hurt me, would you?"

"Of course not!" The words came without my even thinking them.

"There. You see? It is like that. I was not afraid when you asked me to go with Toto to find the Lion, even though the smells were strange. Even when the wolves surrounded us, and the things with wings and hands tried to attack me."

"The winged monkeys attacked you?"

Prince licked his chops. "They tried," he said. "They were not good at it. I bit most of them. All they got was that talking thing you made me wear."

"The wireless headpiece."

"If that is what you call it." He snorted. "They tried to fight me, because they thought I came with the men who make you angry. There were many of them, and many wolves, and the Lion and the Tiger. If they had all fought me and won-"

I found that my hand had crept up over my shoulder, and was resting on the handle of the axe I'd brought to Oz with me. Prince saw the motion and nodded. "There. You would have fought them for me, yes?"

"Of course."

"That is why I was not afraid," he said. "You were near."

"But I sent you and Toto out alone..."

"And when the- monkeys?- when they took the speaking thing, you came looking for me, yes?"

I thought, for a moment, that I should say "for both of you" - but in my heart I knew it wasn't true. When I made that lantern and set off into the Yellow Woods I was looking for Prince, and Prince alone. Toto would have been a bonus, but... "Yes," I said. "For you."

"I knew you would," he said simply.

I let out my breath and leaned forward, my arms across my knees. It was ... somehow, it was not what I'd expected. I don't know what I'd been thinking. It wasn't the words of the dog in Bambi; there wasn't anything of worship in it. It seemed too simple, somehow. "Back home," I said slowly, "you hunt for me. Does that ever bother you?"

"Should it?"

"Your mother was a wild wolf before she lost her paw," I said. "But you track wild things down for me."

"No," said Prince, "I track them down with you. I hunt with you."

"What's the difference? Half the time all I do is say 'Prince, find them'."

Prince snorted; it sounded like amusement. "It is the pack," he said. "A pack hunts together. My mother said so. The first of the pack leads the hunt, but the others hunt too. When the first of the pack does not find the trail, the others do it. When they make the kill, they share it."

"But I'm a man," I said. "Not a wolf. Or a dog."

"You treat me like a human," Prince answered. "I have heard you say that I am as good as any man."

"Well- you are."

"Then you are as good as any dog," he said. "Or any wolf."

I've been called a lot of things in my time, good and bad alike, and I have to say... that was probably the second-best compliment I've ever had.

Prince padded over to me. "You do not smell uncomfortable any more," he noted. "Are you done?"

The answer took a few moments, but I finally nodded. "I think so."

"Good," he said, and nosed at my right arm. "I do not like it when you smell like that. Try not to let that happen again."

I smiled, and reached over to scratch him behind the ears. "All right, old boy," I murmured, "if that's what you want."

"Good," he said again. The grass swished; he was wagging his tail.

"You're not going to be able to speak when we get back to Canada, you know," I said.

His tail didn't pause one bit. "I will manage. So will you."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." He paused. "There is one thing..."

"What is it?"

"Will we be going to the other place, too?"

"England, you mean?"

"If that is what you call it."

"I think so. Why?"

"There was this poodle..."

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. "You don't mean the one in Picadilly? The brown one?"

"Yes. Her." His tail was still waving, although a little more slowly.

"I... don't think that's such a good idea, Prince. Her human wouldn't like it. Anyway, she's a quarter your weight."

"I do not care. I liked her."

"Yes, but- a poodle? That's not the breed I'd have thought-"

"There are no other huskies in England," Prince pointed out. "And there are no other dogs here at all. There are wolves."

"Wolves are all right. Your mother was a wolf. Why not one of them?"

"Maybe." He turned to nibble at an itch on his flank. "What about you?"

"I don't need another dog, Prince. Especially not a poodle."

"I do not mean another dog, Sergeant."

"Excuse me?"

Prince looked at me. "I was with you the night Turtle Mountain fell," he said. "Your mate has been dead more than three years. You should find another. Have puppies."

I choked. There wasn't any other word for it. "Prince!" I finally managed, but he just cocked his head.

"What? It's true. You should have a mate. It would not be hard back home- there are always women looking at you-"

"That's enough, Prince."

I swear, that dog was laughing at me. "Even here. You would not have to go far."

"Absolutely not, Prince! Miss Poppins- well, it just wouldn't do, and that's flat."

"Not her. The one with yellow hair."

The only reason I didn't choke again is because I couldn't believe my ears.

"The girl is young," Prince said, "and she likes you. She has many puppy-bearing years ahead of her-"

"Prince, she's a child! A- a cub!"

"She is not a cub." Prince stared at me. "I can tell, I have smelled it- she is not a cub. Not any more."

I opened my mouth, but there weren't any words willing to come out.

"You didn't know?" asked my dog. I shook my head mutely. What was I supposed to say? I couldn't even believe the conversation was **happening**.

With a sigh, Prince nosed at my hand. "I am sorry," he said sympathetically. "It must be very confusing, to be a man."

More out of habit than anything, I rested my hand on the back of his neck. "You have no idea," I muttered.

There was no more talking after that. There wasn't anything left to say. That, or Prince realized he'd overstepped his bounds- I couldn't tell which, and I didn't much want to find out. Still, it was a decent silence, not an uncomfortable one. I think we both were glad to finally be out of the city noise and stink, no matter how warm and strange the Yellow Woods were.

Miss Poppins came by eventually. "The Hungry Tiger has agreed to carry word to Glinda that Dorothy is still alive, while we are gone," she said. "For now, it's getting late. We'll be leaving in the morning. It would be a good idea to get some rest."

She was right, of course, but I didn't want to go in just yet. "We'll be along soon," I said.

"Waiting for something in particular, Sergeant?"

What she meant by that I don't know, but I chose to take it at face value. "No, ma'am. But I've been in London for more than a month now."

She lifted an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

I nodded at the gap in the trees. The moon was gone, but there were still stars, thick and close together as frog spawn. "You can't see that in London. Not with the smoke, and the city lights the way they are. This is as close as I've been yet to home."

If there'd been a little more light I think I could've made out the look on her face as she turned to see. In a way, I'm glad I couldn't. There was something about the set of Miss Poppins' shoulders that made her look- well, private somehow. "Yes," she murmured, "I suppose I can see that. . ."

I didn't say anything, and neither did Prince. Eventually Miss Poppins nodded, turning away from the sight of the stars. "We leave in the morning," she reminded me, and then she was gone.

* * *

Here ends the text of Sgt. Frank William Preston's diary as presented in Fort Munn.  
Should further material become available, it, too, will be transcribed.


	36. Epilogue

Some time later on that cold September day, a startled young Constable found himself at the door to Inspector Moore's office. The blonde man barely looked up from his desk long enough to note the fellow's presence and thrust a hastily sealed envelope into his hands. "For Preston," Moore said roughly. "No one else." Then the Inspector went right back to the stack of paperwork on his desk, not even bothering with a proper dismissal.

The Constable found Sergeant Preston at the kennel-yard, watching the training of a newly arrived batch of dogs. His own dog - who looked as if he just might outweigh the Constable - sat next to him, giving every impression of watching the goings-on himself. "How about that one? She's not half bad," Preston said as the Constable arrived.

"Sergeant?"

Preston glanced over his shoulder, apparently caught by surprise. "Oh. Ah- I was just commenting on the new dogs. . ."

_That's funny,_ thought the Constable,_ I could've sworn he didn't hear me coming. _"Um. I suppose she's a good choice," he said diffidently. "I haven't really had the chance to look."

The older man nodded. "You might want to. It looks as if we've got some really promising two- and three-year-olds."

"Actually, Sergeant, I'm lots better with horses. They're going to send me to Calgary instead of keeping me up here."

"I see," murmured Preston. His eyes fell on the envelope. "That a message?"

"Why- yes, Sergeant. From Inspector Moore."

He offered it to Preston, who produced a knife from somewhere and slit it open. A smile crossed his face as the Constable watched.

"Good news, sir?" the younger man inquired.

"Hm? Oh- yes. . . yes, I think so. Thank you, Constable."

They exchanged salutes, and the Constable turned to leave. Behind him, he heard Preston saying, "What do you know, Prince - it worked! It actually worked!"

Well, people did say Sergeant Preston thought an awful lot of his lead dog. The Constable shook his head lightly, smiled to himself, and walked away.


End file.
